


The Year of Cancer and Beyond

by OldProf1942



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24075295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldProf1942/pseuds/OldProf1942
Summary: As we all know, the writers and producers of Elementary decided ( in their infinite wisdom ) to end a seven season series in approximately five minutes.Oh! No one is actively trying to kill Sherlock.Oh! He's leaving for Iceland the next day.Oh! Let's have dinner.Oh! Surprise! Surprise! Joan has cancer!HUG!  "Of course I'm staying."  Black screen!One year vanishes.Oh! Funeral (red herring) nobody's dead.Foyer, domestic banter: "is that why you spent almost $500 on a floral arrangement?"Elevator, (every husband's most dreaded question, the classic 'does this make me look fat?') Joan: "Are you gonna tell me what you think of this wig or not?"Around the corner, gaze into each other's eyes (reprise of first meeting)"Well as long as we're together, what does it matter?"End episode, end season, end series.What? You blinked and missed the end?In the 24 chapters of 'The Year of Cancer and Beyond' I hope to fill in the blanks.This will be an adult love story.  Some fluff, very little angst, a bit of humor and an exploration of two damaged and repressed people building a life partnership.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Joan Watson (Elementary)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	1. Prelude:  Advise and Consent?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's leaving. What now? Does it take more courage to fight the battle alone or to accept help?

The door closed. Sherlock was on his way to pay his respects to the retired Captain Gregson. ‘Now what?’ Joan’s world had turned into an insane emotional roller coaster ride that refused to end. She had sent the signal. He had responded. She had been furious with him for his lack of communication over nearly two years. But she was overjoyed that he was alive. He said that he was happy and doing some of the best work of his career. Yet his eyes. They were the eyes she had seen, when she had volunteered at the VA while still a surgeon. The eyes of combat veterans having multiple surgeries for old ghastly, debilitating wounds. Eyes that had seen too much. Eyes that saw those sights even when closed.

With his return, they had fallen immediately into the old rhythms of their partnership. Tracking the trail of Ronald Adair. His death, and his part in manipulating Joan into bring Sherlock back.

Sherlock had even bought Joan a fabulous dress, that fit perfectly of course, for her meeting last night at the opera with Ellory, Moriarity’s lieutenant.

Losing contact, while on the phone with him last night, sent the roller coast plunging straight down again until his reappearance this morning. Then with the comfort of knowing that no one was trying to kill him, he announced his departure, scheduled for the next day.

His suggestion that she and Arthur join him for dinner was agreed to, but with a sense of dread and loss. How do you say goodbye again to someone you have loved for eleven years? Loved, but could only express in an abstract, philosophical, platonic sense. How do you say goodbye to a man whose touch you crave and whose arms and courage you desperately need? A man you do not have the courage to tell: ‘I have cancer’!

Joan sat on the ottoman near the foyer and stared off into middle space. Eyes filled with tears, she dared not let fall. Everything, even breathing, took conscious effort. ‘Why did he have to leave?’ echoed over and over in her mind. Soon the words began to blur, and new ones formed. “Jo, Jo, Joan, Joan, Joanie? Joanie? JOAN!” Rose’s voice broke through the fog of fear and despair that had enveloped Joan’s existence. “Are you alright?” Joan stared at the voice. “Joan, answer me. Are you OK?” “Yes, Yes, fine, just distracted, daydreaming, no problem.” Joan’s response. “Like hell!” the former combat veteran’s instant retort. “What’s going on? What’s happened? Arthur?” “No, no, he’s fine.” “Your mom?” “Mom’s OK. I just got some bad news, that’s all.” Rose took a breath and asked quietly: “The cancer?” With a small, sad smile Joan looked at Rose and mumbled: “He’s leaving tomorrow. Rose, he’s leaving.” No self-discipline could hold the tear’s now. She sobbed, with the total abandon of a child. A tidal wave of tears suppressed for nearly fifty years. All those years of being perfect, of being in control, of being the caregiver, of being the one, that everyone else could count on, of being a total fraud. “Why can’t he stay?” Her childlike plea drove Rose to immediate action. Pulling Joan to her feet, Rose issued one-word commands: “Come! Kitchen! Tea! Talk! Now!” Joan followed.

Seated at the kitchen table Joan continued a litany of rhetorical questions. “Why can’t he stay? Why does he have to leave? Why? Why?” Finally, sitting back in her chair, taking a deep breathe she shook her head and quietly announced: “I’m sorry Rose, I guess I was blindsided by Sherlock’s decision to leave. Had a bit of a meltdown there. I’m OK. Sorry if I upset you.” Rose brought their steaming mugs of tea to the table and immediately questioned Joan. “Did he say where he was going?” “Iceland, aah he is going to finish some project he needs that that ….” Joan’s chin dropped to her chest. “Oh Rose, it’s all coming apart ….. I have no control ….. I, I, feel like I’m swimming in Jello. When he came back, it was, there was, clarity, he ….. he …… gave me strength. He gave me courage. I don’t know how he does it, but he always has.”

Rose interjected: “You told me once that he had expressed, numerous times, that he was sharper, clearer, more focused with you at his side. Now you just stated that he gave you clarity, strength and courage. You were always there for him during his crisis of addiction, recovery and relapse. Why would he not be here for you?”

“But Rose, he’s happy, and you don’t know how hard it is for him to be happy. He’s spent nearly two years dark and in deep cover because the Reichenbach organization was much larger, more widespread, and more dangerous than anyone thought. It took almost three years to get Odin tried, convicted, and sentenced. After doing work like that I don’t have the right to ask him to spend a year or more babysitting me. Holding my hand. No! No!”

“Really? Happy? Good work? Important work? Come on Joan! That man has been in daily mortal combat for the last two years with NO backup! So, you’re sparing him some inconvenience. OK, let’s get real. You lose! Cancer wins! How do you think Sherlock will feel if he finds out a year from now that you're dead? What do you think he’ll do? Huh? I can’t hear you Joan! What happens to Sherlock Holmes? The man who loves you. The man you love.”

“Oh god, he’ll probably relapse.”

“How about OD Joan. How about OD.”

“Noooo! Rose, ….. so, I’m responsible for him too? I can’t be, …. I can’t, I ….."

“No Joan, you’re only responsible for you! You have family, friends, colleagues who will stand by and help you twenty-four, seven. But there is only one person who can give you the courage, strength, and love that you need most. You don’t even have to ask him. All you have, to do is tell him that you have cancer. I’ve read your book cover to cover, twice. Every page displays a man of honor, devotion, and courage. Let him help. This is what love is really about. Oh, the hearts and flowers are all good, but that’s just window dressing. Sex, yeah, that’s an important part of the communication. But the real guts of love, is sharing the load. My god woman, you two have been beaten, stabbed, shot, and kidnapped. Do you really think he wouldn’t or couldn’t handle a barf bag, or bedpan? Come on, I’ve seen you in action these past two years. You’re no coward. Just tell him!”

With a long sigh that became a quiet moan, Joan whispered a request. “Rose, would you keep Arthur overnight? Sherlock wanted the three of us to have dinner. No matter the outcome tonight I am sure it will be very emotional. Well, at least for me. I do not want my son to see me go to pieces. By the time you bring him home from school tomorrow afternoon, I should have it back together.”

“Of course.” Rose’s instant response. “We’ll go indoor ‘camping’. A puzzled look from Joan prompted Rose’s explanation. “Iris and I have one of those two-woman, popup tents. You know, looks kind’a like an igloo. There’s just enough room to put it up in our living room. We eat soup and beans out of old army surplus mess kits. Arthur thinks it’s ‘really cool’. He likes sleeping in his clothes too. That way we’re ready in case of any emergency. Somehow, it’s extra fun to read our story books in the tent by electric lantern. Sometimes we just pretend and makeup stories. He’s getting good at that. He’s told a couple of good ones he’s made up about Sherlock. Wonder where he gets that from? Oh, we start with a hike, if it’s not raining. We put on our back backs and hike around the block a couple of times, or until short legs get tired.”

“Thank you Rose. I haven’t any idea how I’d deal with this without you. I don’t know if I have the courage to tell him. You’re right, I should. But I don’t know if after all the years of making sure that no man would diminish me, can I let go and give myself to Sherlock? Can I let him take care of me? It is ironic, that over the years, the only battles he and I have ever fought, were over his desire to protect and care for me. We were so afraid of damaging or destroying our partnership. Our partnership was in fact, the only successful relationship either of us has ever had. I wonder if I can trust it to save us. To save ‘two people who love each other’. “

“ Courage, Joan, courage.”

“I’ll try.”


	2. The Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walls crumble! Barriers collapse! Doors unlock. Light enters. Truth confronted.

"Hey buddy, you ok?" The driver caught Sherlock's eye in the rear view mirror. "Ahhh there's a clinic that we'll drive by, and a hospital about a mile from here. You don't look so good."

Sherlock's response was a terse, "Just drive." His internal monologue was simple, "Focus - Data - Discipline!" It became a mantra, closing out all extraneous thought. He attacked the internet via his phone, devouring and assimilating all the data his speed reading mind could absorb. After nearly forty five minutes, Sherlock abruptly commanded the driver to stop.

The cabby pulled over and yelled, 'Hey, if you're gonna be sick, get out first!"

Sherlock threw a hundred on the seat, turned, walked across the street and started to run. He was only two blocks from the brownstone. The sprint would help calm him. He had to be in control. At the front door, Sherlock paused to regain his composure. He took the key Joan had given him and tried to put it into the lock. But his hand was now shaking too violently. He focused on his pulse and respiration, bring both down to a reasonably normal level.

Key inserted, door opened, Sherlock entered.

All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart and his brain screaming, "I WILL NOT LOSE HER"!

She was saying something about takeout choices when she stopped and looked at him with concern, or was it dread?

Ever since Gregson confided Joan's diagnosis, Sherlock had fought the rising bile of panic in his throat. He had only two things to offer her, his love and his courage. He must be strong.

He... Must... Be... Strong!

Joan resumed...."what is it?"

"The Tellavecchio case."

His reply was slow and measured.

"I know what it is."

Her response was quiet but abrupt.

"I told him not to tell you."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want you to feel like you had to stay."

Fighting to maintain control, Sherlock took another step forward and managed to say:

"The, uh Captain said that you had a lump removed a month ago, and Tellavecchio is the name of your oncologist."

Joan's reply was typically Joan. "Look, I only told a few people. I didn't want anyone at the 11th to worry about me."

Taking another step toward Joan he mumbled, "Yeah. So, the pathology report was, positive for cancer."

As her eyes filled with tears and a voice cracking with emotion she blurted, "I'm starting chemo in a few days."

"You really would've let me leave without telling me?" His voice crying out with a quiet anguish that brought Joan to her feet.

Staring at Sherlock with red and swollen eyes she exclaimed, "Well, you, you say that like I'm not planning to make it through this. I am gonna see you again, Sherlock!"

In a sudden burst, Sherlock lurched the last few feet toward Joan and clasped her in a bear hug that shocked them both.

She gasped, "Sherlock" He whispered, "I'm staying." She continued, "no, Sherlock, I mean it!" He repeated,"I'm staying."

Tightening his grip, he declared, "Of course I'm staying."

As they slowly swayed Sherlock felt Joan's hands move up his back until they grasped the top of his shoulders and pulled the two of them into a locked embrace. And in that moment, time was frozen and all that existed was them.

Joan turned her head from Sherlocks shoulder into his neck, the stubble of his chin grazed her forehead and his warmth enveloped her. She whispered," Sherlock, I've been so frightened..... I missed you...... I need you....... I want you."

With a hesitancy in her voice, Joan quietly continued. " You and I have spent eleven years running toward each other,..... away from each other,..... past each other..... and around each other. Both of us afraid that a kiss, an embrace, or any physical intimacy would shatter our hard won partnership." She paused, then plaintively murmured.

"If wanting you is wrong, ..... you can go, ..... I'll understand."

Slowly the words began to slip from Sherlocks lips, "My dear sweet Watson, I am yours and you are mine for ever and ever till time ends. We are bound in ways that I cannot begin to fathom. But I shall not run from you ever again. I ...... (he pulled back just enough to look into Joan's eyes) I …. truly love you as I never imagined I could."

She returned his gaze with an intensity that made him ache with eleven years of suppressed longing. She whispered, "Now".

Sherlock's left arm slipped down and behind Joan's knees and in one motion swept her into his arms. Joan let out a small gasp and pulled herself tight to his chest. He turned toward the foyer and the stairs leading to her room on the next floor. As he mounted the stairs Joan giggled and proclaimed, " I feel like Scarlett O'Hara!" Sherlock, master of a multitude of languages and dialects slipped into a perfect Clark Gable as Rhett Butler, "Frankly my dear," he then paused both in motion and word, looked into Joan's eyes with a warmth and passion she had never seen, continued in his own voice, "I love you now and until my last breath."

As he continued up toward her room, a breathless and slightly giddy Joan interjected, "I didn't know you did impersonations?" Sherlock's response, "my Sean Connery is perfection, 'Bond, James Bond', or maybe you'd like a little Benny Hill?" Joan ventured the opinion that she'd seen enough of him the year they lived in London and Benny Hill was a definite mood killer. Sherlock continued, "Then I am to assume you'd not be interested in my stellar Gabby Hayes?" Joan mumbled "Do I look like Dale Evans?" Sherlock paused on his upward journey staring at the blonde tresses laying against his chest, as he cleared his throat dramatically for effect, Joan said, "Oh, the blonde." He whispered, "Watson, you would be gorgeous even in Kitty's purple."

Sherlock resumed his quest for Joan's room. Joan silently reflected on the incredible change that had occurred in just the last few minutes. She had gone from despair to hope, from fear of losing Sherlock to the joy of their embarking on an exciting new path. It amazed her how Sherlock could mix just the right amount of hope and romance and silliness and passion and intelligence into a marvelous concoction that so soothed her troubled spirit.

Reaching her room, Sherlock pushed the door open, entered, and with a dancer’s grace hooked the door with his left foot, gently shoving it closed with a click.

Joan, anticipating a return of Rhett Butler and a vigorous toss onto the bed, was surprised by Sherlock gently setting her on her feet and taking her face in both of his hands. In barely a whisper he asked, "Are you sure this is what you desire?" Overwhelmed with emotion, all she could do was nod. She looked up into his eyes and was met, not with lust, but a yearning that matched her own. She pulled his face to hers and the kiss they shared left no doubt as to desire or consent.

Ever so slowly they removed each other’s clothing. The process of discovery was gentle, sweet, filled with little kisses and murmured endearments. They stood, naked in the dim light that seeped through the closed window shutters. Their bodies, literally in contact from head to toe, conveyed the slight tremble of anticipation and uncertainty. "Now?" Sherlock whispered. Joan's reply, a smile. Once again Sherlock swept Joan into his arms, stepped out of the tangle of clothing and stretched his right knee to the center of the bed. He gently lowered Joan and joined her in a preliminary embrace. Thus, THEY began.


	3. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deed is done. The walls have crumbled, the moats crossed, the barriers breached, the time for understanding has arrived. Does it make sense? Does it have to make sense? Joan and Sherlock need to know. The time for truth has arrived.

It was dark. He didn’t know the time. He always knew the time. His internal clock was infallible. (It used to be.) How much time had passed? He did not know. (He always knew.) It was quiet. Almost silent. (It was never quiet.) It must be a dream. Wait. He had never had this dream.

This was new, this was calm, this was contentment?

He had known satisfaction, accomplishment, in many endeavors, ranging from sex to solving the most demanding of criminal cases. But contentment? Never!

This should upset him. But it does not. WHY? ….. Why? ….. why?

Stirring, ….. there was movement next to him, and on him. HER scent! SHE was here! No dream! Suddenly memory flooded his consciousness. CANCER ….. HUG ….. LOVE ….. SEX

**************

She was, in fact, HERE! Her head was on his chest, he could feel and hear her steady breathing. Her pulse whispered through his senses. Her arm was across his torso holding firmly to him. Her leg lay entwined with his. His arm held her to him. They were naked. They were in a classic cuddle. It was wonderful! It was horrible! CANCER CANCER CANCER

What now? He was Sherlock Holmes, problem solving was his ‘raison d’etre’. She was Joan Watson, his partner, his one and only love. She held the cacophony of the world at bay. Together they were better, sharper, more focused. This battle would be, must be, won. Failure was not an option.

**************

“What time is it?” Her voice was soft and gentle, almost a purr. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “ummmmm” This time it was a purr as she snuggled closer. He reached over Joan with his left arm and drew a light blanket back over them. This elicited another purr and a series of small, whisper gentle kisses on his chest. Time froze. Sherlock forgot to breathe. Every nerve ending trembled at a primal level. He had never experienced such tactile intimacy. She lifted her face to him, her eyes still closed. “Kiss.” Her quiet command. He obeyed without hesitation. The sweet, soft kiss building until they clasped to each other with an intensity that demanded that they meld into one entity.

Pulling apart for oxygen they succumbed to a series of quiet giggles. Joan was fascinated, she had rarely heard Sherlock laugh and never giggle. It made him so cute that it brought her to tears. Rolling on top of him, the clock radio provided just enough illumination so that each could see tears welling in the other’s eyes. “Sherlock, are you alright?” He nodded vigorously. “I ….. I didn’t know that it was possible to be this happy. And I didn’t realize that when you lie flat on your back and cry, the tears come out of the corners of your eyes and run directly into your ears.” They both laughed and cried and exalted in the joy of knowing that they were no longer just partners but were now partners in life.

“Sherlock can you reach the box of tissue on the nightstand? My nose is running and I'm dripping all over your chest.” Stretching to his left, he was able to retrieve the tissues and was in process of passing the box to Joan when she gulped, hiccupped, and sneezed in one continuous action. They both convulsed into near hysterical laughter. She from embarrassment, he from the bizarre sendup of every romantic stereotype they had just destroyed. “My dear Watson are there anymore unseemly noises or bodily functions you wish to display?” She promptly punched him. He promptly smiled.

Sliding off Sherlock so the she might complete her janitorial chores, she caught sight of the clock. “Sherlock, is that clock correct?” Twisting his head around he stated: “Within a minute or so.” Joan lifted her head again and with a quizzical look questioned: “What time did we come up here?” After a brief dash through the memory bank Sherlock concluded: “I arrived at a quarter of five. Our exchange took no more than seven minutes. From hug to bed approximately eight minutes. Thus, we embarked on our new intimacy at close to five o’clock pm local time.” Joan punched him, this time just on general principal. “Sherlock! We just had over eight hours of sex! I haven’t had eight hours of sex total in the last eight years!” “Three more hours, my love, and we will be up to and hour per year average.” “Sherrrlock!” her voice rising in a crescendo of warning. Suddenly he turned to her, blue-grey eyes wide and vulnerable. Just like that first meeting, (‘ _Do you believe in love at first sight_?’). That same mystical, magical, something that drew her inexorably to him. But now, no restraint needed. Their lips and bodies crashed in a free and uninhibited collision of pure pleasure and joy. Retreating for oxygen, once again, he possessed that small crooked smile and she beamed, each taking delight in the others satisfaction.

“Well, Sherlock, I assume that you catalogued our performance and responses last night?”

“Watson, you know how my brain works. I can observe and perform simultaneously. But last night something very strange occurred. I lost all track of time, location and specific events.”

“Are you telling me that you can’t recite the exact number of my orgasms and their relative intensity on you own sexual ‘Richter scale’?”

“Somewhere after three or four, I was swept into a maelstrom of sensation that I willingly surrendered myself to. It became a universe that was all you! I gave my whole being to be part of that new and complete entity.”

“Well, my dear Holmes, if it is of any consequence, it was a ‘baker’s dozen’.”

“Watson! You need not be flippant.”

“Oh! No, no, no, my love. Not flippant, astonished! I know how you and I possess that incredible, bad habit, of overanalyzing everything. Please let me explain. I love you and I truly need you. Last night was an epiphany! Finally, my life made sense. You see, last night, I too surrendered and gave myself to that new oneness. You had to descend and pass through chaos. I had to ascent and finally pass through clarity. Each was a foreign land that fear kept us from. My fear was not of destroying the partnership but of destroying myself. When we first started last night, you were a bit intimidating. It was as though you were reading my mind. You knew what I wanted, where I wanted, how I wanted. As always, I was afraid. I wanted to let go, but I couldn’t. You kept whispering ‘I love you.’ over and over until it became our mantra. As the orgasms built, I found comfort and security in parallel with the excitement. It was as though I could think as you do, on multiple levels at the same time. With that sense of understanding I was able to let go and join you in that final act of surrender. You became my everything. And yes, we became one.”

“Sherlock, do you remember that I once said that my previous relationships had died of boredom. That was partially correct. The reality was that I couldn’t be what they wanted. I couldn’t be a mere accessory to someone else's life. I had to continue in the quest for who I really was. But they all wanted me to be exactly as I was, at the moment I was with them. ‘Arm candy', companion, homemaker, breeder (‘heir and a spare’) the perfect ‘little woman’. Pipe and slippers, dinner at eight, summers on the cape.”

“You were the only man who let me grow, who let me experiment. You challenged me. You let me be me. You inspired me. You did not diminish me. Last night I came to fully understand that your attempts to protect me were not acts of suppression or smothering but the gestures of concern and caring that we both have offered to each other. It's what two people who love each other do.”

“I most likely shouldn’t admit this. Your ego never needs feeding. But your equipment, technique, passion, tenderness and endurance are truly awe inspiring. I thought that in the past I had climbed a few orgasmic mountains. After last night, I was shocked to discover they were mere molehills. I do believe that we both were afraid of love. Afraid it would make us weak and vulnerable. But at this moment I have never felt stronger."

Resuming their cuddle and snuggle, Joan queried: “How did we get here?” “Stairs! I believe.” “Sherlock!” “Sorry Luv. I’m in some sort of silly, adolescent, this is the first-time state. Everything seems so new, so different, so exciting. I’ve never experienced this combination of exhilaration and contentment. They should be mutually exclusive, but at this moment everything feels quite normal. Good. Wonderful. We are now finally partners, in everything!”

“Watson, are you sure this is what you want? I know how overbearing I can be, and how my desire for you, especially after these last three years may have driven me to excess. Please believe me, I want only that which is best for you and Arthur. I love you. If you feel my presence will be a negative influence upon your son, I shall leave. I have come to understand that love is about giving, not getting. I can only promise that I shall give my all to making you and Arthur safe and happy.”

“Sherlock, this is what I want! As I said last night, we have run to, from, passed, and around each other. Despite all the self-inflicted wounds, we have always found a solution to whatever problems we faced, and we always will. I am yours and you are mine.”

As they lay together, Sherlock was still in wonder at the quiet. It wasn’t silence. The world was still out there, but the chaos of sights and sounds were reduced to a low hum. Like the soothing buzz of the bees. She had the power to keep him focused. He no longer had to observe, absorb, catalog, and organize everything, twenty-four, seven. He now had time to enjoy, and savor. Once again Joan Watson had saved his life. She had given him a new life.

“Mr. Holmes.”

“Yes Ms. Watson.”

“It has come to my attention that; I’m starving to death. Have either of us had any nourishment in recent memory?”

“My apologies Watson, we didn’t have the dinner I advocated for last night. I had no lunch. On the way to see Gregson. No breakfast. Underground with McNally. No previous evenings dinner. Searching for secret card room. No lunch. We were formulating plans to see who had duped you into sending the signal to bring me back. So, I have gone close to two days without food. You?”

“As you, no dinner. Distracted by vigorous carnal activity. No lunch. Too upset at your anticipated leaving. No breakfast. Too worried at loss of contact with you. No dinner. Too nervous anticipating meeting with Morarity's minion Ellory. No lunch. Same reason as yours.”

“Oh, by the way how do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How do you always select the perfect clothes in exactly the correct size. You seem to have a fashion sense that at first look I would never choose, and yet always turns out perfect!”

“Regarding size, it’s merely having exceptional spatial acuity. I see objects very precisely. I have no real sense or understanding of fashion. But I know you. I know the person. And clothes reflect who you are.”

“Well, if I don’t eat soon, my wonderful ‘Fashion by Holmes’ will hang like rags. ‘Feed me! Feed me Now!’

“Yes, ‘Audrey’.”

**************

Starting down the stairs, Joan suggested: “If you’re feeling domestic later, you might replace the burnt-out lightbulb here in the stairway.”

“Yes dear.” Sherlock’s sarcastic reply. “Oh, my darling are we going to eat ‘au natural’.”

“Oh! Clothes. Yes. Good. Warmer. Less distracting. Ahh, Sherlock, you’ll find all your clothes in your old room. Ms. Hudson has kept it spotless. I’ll explain later.” Joan spun around and headed back to her room.

Sherlock descended in the near total darkness to the kitchen and started gathering the various components for their nutritional restoration. The calm was enjoyable, and yet a bit unnerving. He had told Watson that for her, he would always ‘make adjustments’. Getting used to peace, quiet, calm, and contentment, a nasty bit of business, but someone had to do it! Ha! Was that an attempt at humor? My! The transformation continues.

**************

Joan stood before her closet. For the first time she wished she had a seductive negligee ensemble, one that even had the high heal slippers with the fuzzy stuff on the toes. She laughed out loud. ‘My god, I've just had eight hours of the best sex ever! And I want to be sexy and seductive?’ The transformation was beginning. Joan settled for her usual, sleep shorts, t-shirt, fuzzy white slippers and the ubiquitous burgundy cardigan.

Padding down the two flights of stairs Joan turned to her right and proceeded into the kitchen. Standing at the stove was a still naked Sherlock breaking eggs into his favorite oversized metal bowl. Joan noted a second bowl and pancake mix awaiting her ministrations. Rounding the table, she froze and uttered a strangled gasp. “Oh my god, Sherlock! Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. What have I done?”

Sherlock wheeled about instantly with an egg in each hand. He was confronted with a horror-stricken Watson, eyes wide and both hands held to her mouth. “What? Watson? What?” As tears slowly rolled down her cheeks, she moved toward Sherlock with one hand extended toward him. “Oh Sherlock, you have scratches, and bite marks and.” She grasped his shoulders and turn him and examined his back, buttocks, and legs. Turning him once again toward her, she exclaimed: “It would appear that in the heat of passion, I've scratched and bitten you. All indications are that I didn’t break the skin and draw blood. It also seems that I tried to commit ‘death by a thousand hickeys.’ Sherlock, in a mild state of alarm looked down in self-examination. Looking back up with a bemused expression he pronounced: “I say Watson, it appears you were rather rambunctious.” Looking down again, he further commented: “I wasn’t aware that one could be the recipient of a hickey here, or for that matter, there. Well, old girl, seems you were more than a bit frisky last night!” Joan dropped her forehead to Sherlock’s chest. He inquired: “Watson, are you wound free?” Joan lifted her head and nodded an affirmative. “My dear Watson, we need never fear that our change in living arrangement will make us domestic, conventional, or anything approaching normal. And anyway, the ‘bourgeoise’ would never have us!”

“Sherlock, there are other wounds. I judge two and possibly three are gunshot scars. And there is at least a half dozen knife or other sharp object wounds. I’m sorry for being so angry with you upon your return. I didn’t, I couldn’t think about how much danger you were in. So, I pretended that you were merely hopping from one police station to the next all around the world. Creating walls of crazy, and as Marcus said, ‘fighting super crime’! It was the only way I could cling to the hope that you were still alive.”

“We’ll have many opportunities in the future to sit in front of the hearth and regale each other with our trials, tribulations and accomplishment. Now then, so long as we’re together, nothing else matters. Let me throw something on, and we can be about feeding our deprived bodies.” Reaching the double French doors Sherlock paused, and partially turned. “Ms. Watson.” She looked. “I love you.” He held her gaze. He turned and entered his room. She promptly burst into tears. All those years of being so stoic, and now a look, a quiet declaration of love, and she became a puddle. A happy puddle, but still a puddle. The man could be so aggravating, annoying, acerbic, but oh so loving!

**************

Having devoured eggs, pancakes, tomatoes, mushrooms, avocados honey, maple syrup and pots of rehydrating herbal tea. Joan and Sherlock sat facing each other in the glow of comfort and satisfaction.

“Mr. Holmes.”

“Yes, Ms. Watson.” “I have a final request for the evening.”

“Ah, would that per chance be for slumber?”

“What a clever boy my Sherlock is.”

“I admit, I too am in need of sleep. We have tested ourselves both emotionally and physically this night. It is a good and well-earned fatigue."

“I stripped the bed down to the mattress. It seems we spread our ‘precious bodily fluids’ hither and yond.”

“Watson! Are you saying that our love is a ‘Strangelove’?”

“Judging by what I’ve done to your body, I'm not quite sure. OK, Mr. Know-it-all. Who was the character who was concerned about our fluids?”

“General Jack D. Ripper! Alright, Ms. Queen of Pop culture! Who was that actor?”

“Ha. Easy-Peasy. Sterling Hayden. Six-foot five and that fantastic deep voice. Yum! Last question. What was the name of the air base?”

“Victory is mine! Burpelson AFB! Now then my love, when will Arthur and Rose be returning?”

“They’re normally back by three or so. You going to really let me sleep that long?”

“Are you going to need twelve hours to recover?”

“I’d like twenty-four, but I can settle for an honest eight. What do you have in mind?”

“You may sleep as long as you desire. When you are fully restored, I would like to present a plan of action for the next year. These will be merely suggestions. I guarantee that I shall only offer ideas for your consideration.”

Joan smiled warmly. He was trying so hard not to be the old domineering, take charge Sherlock. She was giving him lots of points for the effort. Turning off the kitchen lights, they adjourned to Sherlocks' bedroom, a quick kiss, a cuddle and into the warm embrace of slumber.

Tomorrow, the plan. The Dragon would be slain.


	4. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The partnership has advanced to a new level. Reichenbach has been brought down. It is now time for the team to prepare for the new battle. The 'dragon', cancer must be slain.

This …. was …. Different …. Unique …. Exceptional!

He usually awoke with all faculties running at full speed. This was more like walking through a factory and turning on the lights and the machinery one device at a time. There was no demand, no sense of urgency. No pressure.

Contentment!

It was not a fluke!

It was happening again.

Was this a new reality?

Could this be a new normal?

His intellectual skills were all present, ready, waiting, but not demanding. Not dictating his constant attention. Sherlock proceeded to test his mind with all the brain tricks and exercises at his disposal. Everything was operating at optimum efficiency. Dare he think, even better? No clutter, no stress, no distractions, or digressions.

Checking his internal chronometer and alarm, all seemed perfect. Precisely eleven am, exactly eight hours after they had come to his bed. They were still in the same ‘spoon’ embrace that they had adopted eight hours earlier. Eight hours of sleep? That nearly exceeded his normal weekly total. Looking about, it was apparent that neither of them had moved. Nary a winkle in blanket or sheet. They had worn themselves to delightful exhaustion.

His eyes were open but there wasn’t the usual immediate lurch to his feet. No drive to start a case, a project, an experiment. He only wanted to continue the intoxicating absorption of the scent, the sight, the sound and feel of this wonderous partner. The woman, he had spent three years fighting and nearly dying a dozen times in his quest to return to her. She was his reason for being. He finally knew what real love was. And it didn’t frighten him. It brought him something unique, peace. His eyes grew heavy. Maybe a few more minutes of rest would be nice.

“Sherlock?” The whisper quietly penetrated his sleeping brain. It was her voice, like so many dreams over the last three years. He didn’t want to wake, to the cold reality of her absence. “Sherlock, are you alright?” His eyes opened and her beautiful face lay only inches from his. He managed a quizzical expression. “You were moaning. Are you okay?”

“I was afraid it was another dream like so many in the past.”

“Oh Sherlock, we are very real. And very much here, together, now.” The kiss, and the hug were gentle, the perfect start to the day. “Why don’t you set the kettle to boil and I'll catch a quick shower then you can do the same.”

With his infallible logic: “We could shower together and save time and water.”

“Sherlock, have forgotten last night? Together, naked we are unable to do anything quickly.”

“Drat, foiled again. If I had a mustache, it would be twirling. I can assure you.”

“My, my aren’t you playful this morning.” Off they went to their respective chores. Each with a look of comfort and contentment.

Fresh from their showers, clean clothes and for them, an unusually relaxed demeanor. They had reconvened at the kitchen table. Two bracing mugs of tea. A bowl of mixed fruits and a plate of Ms. Hudson’s outstanding scones. They both had this eerie sense that they were seeing each for the first time.

“Watson, you have always been beautiful, but this morning you look even more so. It is absolutely astonishing. You look all new.”

“And you, Sherlock have always been handsome, but today you take my breath away!”

They both laughed with childlike glee. It was as though they had discovered some grand cosmic secret.

“Well my handsome boy. Regale me we your master plan.”

“Watson, these are merely suggestions. Pick, choose, reject, some, all. It is for you to decide. I am here to assist in any manner that makes the challenge ahead as easy and successful as possible for you and Arthur. As you know, I've been staying at your safe house since I returned.”

“Wait, wait, wait, my safe house?”

“Yes Watson. Your safe house. You know, penthouse, all white, private elevator, tried to give it to you when you wanted to move out of the Brownstone many years ago?”

“That’s mine?”

“Yes, my dear Watson. the Brownstone, the safe house, the climate-controlled warehouse, and the rental properties. All yours. They were my estate along with the trust fund.”

“I’m sorry Sherlock, but when you went over the rail and into the river, I completely lost it. I was able to carry out my part of the scheme, but down in my gut I was certain you had died. It was nearly six weeks before our first communication. When your London solicitors and New York attorneys descended upon me I just signed anything and everything they put in front of me. I know I should have had my own lawyers, but that would have made it too real. Not very smart for a bestselling author, restored MD, top drawer consulting detective and world class mommy, eh?”

They both laughed quietly and shook their heads in mutual wonder at what they had accomplished. They were an incredible team, partners extraordinaire!

“Oh Watson, how I wish there had been a more expeditious way to bring Reichenbach down. But as it turned out, it was the best and only way to destroy his monstrous organization and the vile allies he had bred. Conventional means and methods would never have succeeded. We won the day because we had the greatest of motivation. Every day, every night you were with me. My only goal was to return to you.” They were both looking down at the table, lifting their heads they gazed at each other with tear laden eyes. One battle won. A new battle to engage. Together.

“Well Watson, what I propose is actually three projects with several smaller corollary aspects. All are aimed at providing you with the most comfortable surroundings during your treatment and recovery, and the secure environment necessary for the protection and education of Arthur.”

“Children are most perceptive; he will eventually know that you are sick. Therefore, we all must be prepared to help him to understand what is happening and how, in an age appropriate manner, he can help.”

“To these ends I suggest that first we move to the safehouse. The benefits are many. First benefit is that there are no stairs! The fatigue and joint pain that generally accompany chemo, will be less of a burden. There are seven bedrooms, all with in suite baths. Obviously, no fear of Arthur encountering you while you are ill. All the bedrooms are soundproof for the greatest privacy. It has a private elevator from a secure private garage. Bullet proof glass, and of course, a helipad on the roof. There are many other features. Father forgot nothing when it came to comfort and security. The three bedrooms on the south side of the apartment would be perfect for Arthur. The southeast room could serve as playroom/classroom. Center room for bedroom with sufficient space for two sets of built-in bunkbeds for overnight guests. The third bedroom has a small sitting room and can also be opened to the music room. I thought this might be ideal for Rose. You did say that she was looking for closer and less expensive lodging?”

“Sherlock, so far, everything sounds wonderful and quite sensible. But, well, there might be a problem with Rose. She has a, well, sort of, permanent roommate.”

“Why should that be a problem, Watson? I have every confidence that you thoroughly vetted anyone who might have contact with Arthur. Therefore, I am sure he, she, or it will fit in just fine.”

“Rose's roommate an IT!?”

“Well, Watson you Americans and your pets. You spend more on dog food than education. Disgraceful! I do believe you treat your pets better than your offspring. It often seems that you consider pets as genuine family members.”

“Sherrrrlock!”

“My apologies, Watson. The old me still lurks just below the surface.”

“The old you would never have apologized but would have tried to bury me in statistics. Just to make sure the old you won the argument. I like, no, I love the new you. But I did fall in love with the old you! I don’t expect miracles. But we will deal with ‘old’ you together. The permanent roommate is, ahh, Rose’s spouse.”

“Is there something problematic about this spouse?”

“Well she is, well, a, she.”

“That is, it? Rose is gay? How can that be a problem? Just look at my circle of acquaintances. They run the gamete from A to Z and beyond. My dear departed Alistair. Ms. Hudson and Alfredo, my closest friends. Second only to you and Arthur. I am not quite sure what their relationship is. But I do know that they give every appearance of being ecstatic. So, Watson, why your reticence?”

“During the last two years Rose has become more than nanny and security. She has become my confidant, sister, mother, and friend. She was the only one I could confess my fears and doubts and anxieties to. She is a tough, confidant, and compassionate woman. The only person that knew me as well as you.”

“She lectured me before you returned from your visit with Tommy. She told me to tell you about my cancer. And she told me that you would not let me down. She was right. I was so frightened and confused, so out of control that I did not know how you might react. Much less how we would structure our future together, or even if we had a future. I guess I obsessed over Rose just now as a point of focus. A distraction. Solve one problem at a time.”

“Does Rose’s spouse have a name.?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Iris. She is a petite blue-eyed blonde who could tear your throat out and not even blink. She and Rose were both Army. Multiple tours in Afghanistan. Both instructors at Fort Benning their last two years. That’s where they met. Each works as a part-time nanny while they finish their master's degrees at Columbia.

“Excellent. You can run this by Rose when she brings Arthur home.”

“Are you sure, you can handle living with three women and a four-year-old?”

“My dear Watson, after the last two years, I could live with devil himself. While I have never been very skilled in dealing with the female of the species, I am certain that your guidance will see me through. I should also expect that you will educate me in the care and feeding of the young. Hmm?”

“Now then, the next part of the plan will require your personal involvement. I suggest that during our year of ‘slaying the dragon’ from your penthouse castle, that a complete restoration of the Brownstone be accomplished. I did some work for an, incredibly talented, husband and wife team of architects who specialize in Brownstone restoration. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, would be to work with them and design the layout that best pleased you. The building would be gutted. All the woodwork, floors, paneling, trim, stairs, rails, doors would be salvage and stripped, repaired, and refinished. New steel interior framing, new plumbing, electrics, windows, insulation, and HVAC. The only request I would make is that there be at least one loo on each floor and an elevator that would run from basement to roof. Just think, light switches that actually work. No more trying to find fuses that have not been manufactured in half a century! When finished, the old girl would basically look the same, only younger.”

“Sherlock, I, well, umm, how exactly are we going to pay for this? I don’t know anything about construction, but I suspect that this is a very, very, very, pricey project?”

“Fear not Watson. My first year in exile was spent primarily in Europe with side ventures to Tibet and Norway. My efforts at bring down Reichenbach’s ghastly creation was concentrated mainly on the destruction of the tentacles that had infiltrated governments and large multinational corporations. Odin was not only creating a worldwide murder machine; he was financing it via extortion, intimidation, tax fraud, and electronic theft. Successfully thwarting these efforts was quite lucrative. Rewards were predicated on amounts saved. A one per cent reward for a billion dollars saved is ten million dollars. Thus, my efforts that first year financed my war on Reichenbach for the last two years and left me with a rather tidy sum even after taxes. Short answer. Yes! Hmm. Are you alright Watson? You are looking a bit peaked”

“I had forgotten how completely overwhelming you can be. It used to drive me crazy. Now it just leaves me breathless and totally captivated. Why am I feeling so silly? We are dealing with serious issues here!”

“Don’t worry luv. You and I are both feeling a bit giddy. We have finally given ourselves over completely to another person. It is exhilaration. exciting, and more than a bit frightening. Our partnership has reached a point of maturity that neither of us had anticipated. I do believe that we might be deemed full grown adults. Eh?”

“Sherlock, how did this happen so suddenly?”

“I don’t think eleven years is all so sudden. I think of us much like a volcano. Over the years we’ve spit and sputtered and smoked and steamed while the magma has ever so slowly built to a critical point. ‘Et Voila’, we just had an eruption. And like all volcanic activity we have created new land. A land that will be fertile soil for continued growth.”

“Well, I guess that’s as good an analogy as any. Our colleagues at the eleventh always thought we were in the midst of some kind of explosion. Volcano. Will that be your next tat?”

“Hmm, Volcano, Mount Passion? Hmm.”

“Sherlock stop looking at me like that. Rose and Arthur will be home in about three hours. Not enough time for what I can see in your eyes.”

“Madame, you wound me. Do you think I am naught but lust? Have I not always been the exemplar of the perfect English gentleman? You would hold a momentary lapse in self-control against me?”

“Eight hours of wild, uninhibited, passionate, grand, glorious and soul satisfying sex is not a ‘momentary lapse’ you silly man.” At that point they both dissolved into joyous giggles.

“Shall we proceed to project number three?”

“I can’t imagine what else you might have coursing through that incredible brain of yours.”

“This is something that I have wanted to do since I first took residence here at the Brownstone. The building behind us has been abandoned for nearly fifteen years. It has become an eyesore as well as a security threat. Fires, drug dealers, drug shooting galleries, the threat to all is both daily and very real. About five years ago the city was finally able to gain ownership. Annually they have held an auction with no bidders. The city requirement that the structure had to be demolished within ninety days, at the bidders’ expense, dissuaded any interest. The required million-dollar cash bond also was a deterrent. I had been back only a week when this year’s bid noticed was posted. I made my bid, posted the bond, let out the contract for the demo. I will take legal possession of the property when the building has vanished.”

“May I ask how much you paid?"

“One dollar.”

“One dollar?!”

“Yes. The demo will run another three to five hundred thousand. In addition, there will be site restoration, utility relocation and or removal. Once this is accomplished, I will have a four-car garage built across the site with two, two story apartments above. I should think one for Ms. Hudson and Alfredo and one for Rose and Iris. This will leave a fully enclosed and secure back garden. More than enough room for a flower bed for the bees, vegetable garden for the humans, decorative flowers, scrubs, and trees. Might I add, real grass and more than adequate room for the play apparatus of a growing young man.”

“Sherlock, I am stunned. It is overwhelming. Magical! I fantasized doing something like that these last couple of years. It has been so frustrating. I can’t let Arthur play in his own back yard.”

“I may not know much about child rearing. I do know that young boys need daily time and space to burn off all that excess energy. I do believe this shall aid in that endeavor. Now on to more boringly pragmatic matters.”

“I know from previous conversations that Ms. Hudson and Alfredo serve multiple part time functions for you. I should like to bring them to fulltime status. In addition to their current responsibilities, I think they would be ideal ‘owner’s representatives’ or as you might say here in the States, ‘straw boss’ for this project. Knowing Clio as I do, I cannot see even the roughest toughest New York contractor giving her any trouble. I haven’t provided accommodations for your PA Sean in my proposal. I suspect you will need him even more; what with a new book in the works and all.”

“Don’t worry about him Sherlock, with the amount of caffeine he consumes, I doubt he sleeps. He lives with mother or his latest boyfriend. Sean is quite fickle. He is remarkably flawless in his attention to minutiae. I have even used him to analyze evidence. He misses nothing when it comes to detail. You mentioned, ‘new book’, are you sure that you’re okay with more ‘revenge’?”

“Watson, you might be surprised at how much I learned from the internet on my ride from the golf course yesterday afternoon. If you experience a normal reaction to your weekly chemo infusion, you will have two or three days when you are not at your best. Then you might expect to have four or five reasonably ‘normal’ days. During these better days it is important that you adopt a regimen that serves both your mental and physical heath. I shall remain in the background, available when and if necessary. With regards to the ‘book’. If it is a part of your normal life and since it appears you have a contractual obligation to publish a virtual library of my exploits, then so be it. But I should prefer less embellishment and hyperbole. I am definitely not some sort of fictional hero! I would like to see a more honest depiction of your invaluable contribution. A true reflection of a partnership, our partnership. Please?”

“Oh Sherlock, …. You …. Are …. A …. Hero! Not just to me, but to all who would have fallen prey to Reichenbach’s delusions and madness. And yes, I will tone it down a bit. I might even let you have some editorial input. A little. Not too much. Enough to keep you out of my hair, if I have any, after chemo!”

“Thank you. Final point I should make. My solicitors in London, Brussels and New York are sorting out the difficulties of my being alive and dead all at the same time. Once that is laid to rest, the end result shall be virtually no change in Arthur and your situation. The Brownstone, the new structure and land, the safehouse, the warehouse, the rental properties and the new and improved trust fund shall all be in a master trust that will benefit you, Arthur and future progeny ad infinitum.”

“Are there any question Miss Watson? There will be a quiz.”

“Not at the moment professor.”

“Good, that leaves us with a couple of hours for a nice, gentle, exploratory cuddle. Nothing too vigorous. I doubt that my body could withstand another onslaught of bite, scratches and hickeys.”

“Hmm? Exploration? I think that I shall have to find a perfect spot for that volcano tattoo! Do you have any suggestion Sherlock?”

“Exercise caution my dear Watson; one might elicit an unexpected and uncontrolled eruption.”

“Oh, I do hope so. I love watching nature in all its glory up close and personal.”

“Then let the exploration commence.”


	5. Pizza Salad: Part 1 of 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the month since Sherlock's return he has had little time to establish a relationship with Arthur. The first priority was to determine what threat might exist against one or all of them. Staying at the safehouse afforded little opportunity for casual contact with the boy. Now, everything had changed. No one was in immediate danger. Sherlock and Joan had breeched the emotional and physical barriers that had kept them at arms length. Now the challenge was a pintsized four year old ball of energy. Could Sherlock relate to, communicate with, or love this child? The test begins.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” Joan’s tone was one of genuine concern.  
“Fine. Never better. Watson? What is it?”  
“You. You’re. You're sitting with your back against the chair. You. You. Look, relaxed!”  
That, oh so sincere observation sent Sherlock into a hearty laugh.  
“Sherlock, I do not think that is funny. You said that you had experienced some symptoms of PTSD. And after what you went through with your post-concussion syndrome five years ago, we need to be alert to any warning signs. Like a radical change in behavior or personality.  
“Watson, take a deep breath, now come here and hug me and be hugged. There are not multiple me. The old Sherlock and the new Sherlock are in fact one and the same. My feelings for you have merely allowed the suppressed Sherlock to emerge and show you the depth of passion that I hold for you. That’s not a radical change, that’s honesty. That is truth. And now that the truth has been released, I can truly relax.”  
“I’m sorry Sherlock. While you were gone, I became ever more obsessed with being in control. I had no control over your situation. No way to help you. No way of knowing if you were safe or even alive. So, I did everything possible to make everyone around me happy, healthy, successful, nurtured, and most of all, safe.”  
As she spoke, Joan crossed the kitchen. Just seeing his outstretched arms brought her to tears. Wrapped together, she marveled at how, this man who had frozen into a statue like structure when she had attempted to hug him in the past, was now a warm, breathing, heart beating, human. Now, at last she felt safe.

**************  
“Why don’t we adjourn to the library. I’ll bring the tea. Rose and Arthur will be back soon. How do you want this to go? I mean …. How should we play this?”  
“Watson let it just happen. If Arthur has questions, he will ask them. Take your cue from him. Is that not how you deal with him normally?”  
“Yes, yes, of course, I just want. I want everything to be perfect. Like last night. Like this morning. Like now. Oh Sherlock, I’m afraid of a four-year old’s judgement.”  
“I would imagine that he will be more excited about his ‘camping trip’. I doubt he’ll notice my presence. Relax, just be ‘world class mommy’. That’s all he really needs. I’ll stay in the background and let things develop naturally.”  
“But what will I, what should he, call you?”  
“How about ‘uncle mommy’s sex partner’?”  
_**“Sherlock!!”**_  
“Watson, relax. Don’t worry about titles. The reason I don’t want to be ‘Uncle Sherlock’ is quite simple. ‘Uncle’ is an overused euphemism that translates into ‘mommy’s live in boyfriend’. Let Arthur decide who I am to him. We know who we are to each other.”  
“Yes, you’re right.”  
“What, Watson, no punch?”  
“No, I’ve abused your body quite enough these last twenty-four hours. And I must say, you took it like a man!”  
A quiet companionable laughter accompanied the last of their tea. Sitting at either end of the couch they engaged each other with a slight smile. One of those knowing looks that no longer contained uncertainty or wistfulness. They were both where they belonged.

**************  
Their quiet was ended by the sound of the outer door opening and the happy babble of an overexcited four-year-old. The inner door opened and the amazing thunder of two small feet and the cries of ‘mommy, mommy, mommy’ accompanied a small ball of energy that skidded into the library. Joan slid off the couch on to her knees to clasp her son in a full body hug. As mother and son continued their hug fest Sherlock stood to greet Rose. Before he could utter a sound, Rose commanded: “Mr. Holmes, YOU are getting a hug.” Engaging Sherlock in a bearhug she whispered; “Thank you for staying!” He replied with an equally heart felt; “Thank you for being her friend!”  
As Arthur chattered on about his overnight, inhouse campout, Joan slid back on to the couch paying rapt attention to her son’s tale. Rose released Sherlock and he turned to resume his place, but stopped, dropped to one knee, removed Arthur’s hat and started to unbutton his miniature version of Sherlock’s ubiquitous peacoat. “Excuse me, young sir, might I serve as your valet and attend to your outer garments?” Arthur paused in his story, smiled, giggled, and whispered: “You talk funny!” Sherlock brushed Arthur’s hair into a semblance of order and headed for the coat rack. Rose gave Joan a look of surprise. Sherlock’s instinctive hair comb was unexpected by the two women.

**************  
Sherlock carried Arthur’s outerwear to the foyer and hung them on the hooks surrounding the mirror. At that moment, a lump formed in his throat that reminded him of the first meeting with Joan. The prank that had backfired. The, ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’ that was to haunt him for eleven years.  
Could it be that one could fall in love with a child so easily? He stared at tear fill eyes in the mirror. Such joy! Such hope! A future! He had a future. The ache for her that had driven him to survive the last two years was now a force that drove him toward a family! Joan, Arthur, Sherlock, they could be a real family. They could be his family. Fighting to regain his composure, he prepared to return to the library. 

**************  
Entering, he found Arthur scrounging in his backpack. Soon the boy had found an aluminum package that he had sought. With such serious care that only a small child can display, Arthur slowly opened the foil wrapped treasure. “Mommy I made a treat for you. Last night, Rose showed me how to make, make, ah make.” He looked to Rose, who whispered “s’mores”. “Mores!” he exclaimed. “They're ‘gramma’ crackers, candy bars and burned ‘mashmellows’.” Holding up his rather smashed creation he offered it to his grinning mother. Joan’s reply was instant: “Oh Arthur that’s wonderful. but we have to share.” “Oh, momma there’s enough, we, we, we, all can all have a big bite.” Joan took the first bite of the gooey, mashed confection. Arthur then offered the treat to Sherlock. “Arthur, always, ladies first.” A darling look of chagrin passed over the boy's face. Immediately he turned to offer the next bite to Rose. With a dramatic ‘mmmm’ she showed her pleasure after taking her share of the youngster’s creation. Now offering the remainder to Sherlock, he enthusiastically exclaimed: “You’ll really like this. It’s really, really good!” Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes and proclaimed that he had never tasted anything so good. This produced a broad chocolate toothed smile, nearly bringing sherlock again to tears. ‘How easy it was to please a small boy. Why hadn’t his own father known that simple truth?’  
Looking down at the angelic chocolate and marshmallow decorated face, Sherlock licked his thumb and administer a cursory rearrangement of the gooey remnants of the past evening’s campfire concoction. Once again, the women exchanged looks of astonishment. With a chuckle Sherlock admonished Arthur: “I do believe that you have more treat on your face than in your belly. Come let’s get you bathed and in clean clothes before dinner. I’m sure your mum and Rose want to have a pot of tea and some ‘lady talk’. Let me carry your backpack. With those grubby hands we’d have to wash the pack and you at the same time. Don’t touch the rails. Don’t touch anything. Here!” Taking hold of the shirt and jumper collar, sherlock hoisted Arthur off his feet. “Now flap your arms, we’ll fly you up the stairs!” To many giggles and much laughter, the two ascended to the second-floor bathroom.

**************  
Joan and Rose stared at each other in stunned silence. “I can always get him a job, as a nanny, …. or a father, …. or a husband!” Joan’s response to Rose’s observation was a blush that she was certain extended to the tip of her toes. “Now then girl, today you’re not the boss! You’re my friend. Let’s get a pot brewed, and then I want all the details. No omissions or euphemisms. It’s down and dirty time.”  
For a woman who had always kept her feelings and the facts of her life secreted away from everyone else, Joan suddenly wanted Rose to know everything about everything. At the kitchen table Rose sat back in bemused silence as Joan gushed forth the tale of her last twenty-four hours. An hour later Joan finally came up for air. Rose exclaimed: “Wow! You two don’t do anything in half measure. Do you? The world’s longest, slowest, most complicated courtship. Eleven frigging years of tormenting yourselves and each other. And then you cram all you’ve missed into one day! I can’t make up my mind as to whether that is genius or insanity? But the look on your face and Sherlock’s makes me think that in your unique manner, you two have done what’s best for all three of you. Oh, by the way, I didn’t know you could talk so fast!”  
“I didn’t know I could either. I must have sounded like Arthur chattering away. Oh, after dinner Sherlock and I have a plan for the coming year that will affect you and Iris. I think you’ll be pleased. Now, we’d best go check on the ‘boys’, and see what chaos they’ve created.”

**************  
While climbing the two flights of stairs Rose paused and asked: “Where did Sherlock acquire his seemingly unconscious parenting skills?”  
“Everywhere!” Joan gave a rueful laugh and small smile. “He observes and records everything going on around him. It’s all up there in his ‘brain attic’, waiting to be drawn upon and put to use. While he had a terrible childhood, I’m sure he has seen enough good examples of parenting, that what we saw was the end result. He’s more worried about his influence on Arthur than I am. Beneath that acerbic crust is one of the most loving human beings you’re likely to ever meet.  
At the top of the stairs both women paused to note that the washer and dryer were humming away. Checking the bath, they found a spotless room with fresh towels, rug, and shower curtain. Noting her bedroom door open, she and Rose entered to find the bed Joan had stripped last night was now made. Clothing that had been strewn about were all nicely placed in closet or hamper. Rose offered: “I could also get him a job as a maid or housekeeper. Does he cook?”  
Joan’s smirking reply: “Only between the sheets! Oh wait, he does make great omelets.”  
Shaking her head Rose mumbled: “And it only took you eleven years to discover this man’s skills?”

**************  
Approaching Arthur’s door, the two women paused, hearing conversation and laughter, Joan politely knocked. Sherlock’s muffled voice beckoned with a simple, “Come.”. This was followed by a higher pitched, “Come.”.  
Rose remarked, “Parroting, one of the first steps in bonding.” Opening the door, they were met with the grinning faces of Sherlock and Arthur sitting on the floor, surrounded by what appeared to be the entire world’s supply of Legos.  
“Bonding? Am I losing a child or gaining a second?” Sherlock immediately stuck his tongue out. Much to the delight of Arthur.  
“Well then, what are my boys up to?”  
“We’re designing and building a ‘tarranaer sour rex’! I can’t say his whole name right mommy, but you know. A T-Rex!” This was accompanied by a four-year old’s version of a roar, the chomping of teeth, and arms drawn to his chest to imitate the small arms of the creature. Completing his T-Rex imitation, he promptly sat on the floor and lifted a sketch pad with a rather deftly drawn hind leg of said animal.  
“Did you do that, honey?” Inquired Joan. Arthur nodded an affirmative and started to work on his drawing. “What are you doing now?” “I’m shading so that the leg looks three….” Looking to Sherlock he was prompted with the missing word. “dimensional”. You know mommy, real. You have to learn to see what you see!” With a satisfied and determined look he returned to his project.   
Joan turned to Sherlock: “See what you see?”  
“Anyone can learn to draw Watson, but you must first learn to see what you are looking at. All the shapes that make up a form. Your beautiful face, a T-Rex’s hind leg are a combination of many shapes, of different dimension, and proportion. Add perspective, and you have the reality of what you’re seeing.”  
“Well I know what Rose and I would like to see. Dinner!”

**************  
Arthur’s instant response was a remarkably loud “YAAAAAAAAAA! I want pizza! I want pizza! Pizza is great! Pizza is great!”  
“Well the lad has spoken. Sounds as though Friday is pizza night. The last pizza I had was nearly three years ago in Italy. The pizza was insipid, the company was awful.”  
“And who were you with, might I ask?” Joan’s voice carried a sharp note of, could it be jealousy?   
“I was alone.”  
“Oh, then I hope that both the pizza and the company will be better.” Sherlock’s crooked smile was all that Joan needed to know that her outburst was forgiven. Addressing her son, she declared: “We’ll have to have a salad. We need our greens.”  
“Awhh mom, do we have to? The lettuce gets all soggy and gushy and it won’t even stick on the fork and it’s all yucky! Mommmm?”  
“Arthur, no salad, no pizza.”  
“Okay mommy.”  
“I say, Arthur lad, haven’t you ever h ad pizza salad?”  
“Nooo?”  
“Well then you are in for a real treat. Pizza salad tastes like pizza. Stays crisp and best of all you can eat it with your fingers. Shall I teach you how to make pizza salad?”  
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! PIZZA SALAD!” Arthur's exclamation was accompanied by upraised arms and 'happy feet'.  
“Well my boy, let us be off for the kitchen and seek all the proper ingredients.” Once again, the surprising thunder of two small feet lead the party toward the lower level. As they descended Joan queried: “What is pizza salad?”  
“Haven’t the foggiest my dear Watson. Inventing as I go. Never fear, I was once four and I remember it quite precisely. Worry not he shall have and enjoy his greens. It’s all about expectation!” Joan looked at Rose, both shrugged. He was in full Sherlock mode. Heaven knew what he might concoct. But, no doubt, it would be wonderful!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 2 (Chapter 6) will be ready in a couple of days. One more kitchen experiment to perform. Pizza Salad lives!  
> All comments, criticism, and inspiration welcome.  
> Stay Well!  
> Courage!


	6. Pizza Salad: Part 2 of 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bonding between Arthur and Sherlock continues. It is a time of great joy for Sherlock but also a reminder of all he has missed. It is a process over which he has no control. How will it end? How should it end?

Joan and Rose made a leisurely descent to the kitchen. Arthur and Sherlock had charged ahead in their quest to find the necessary ingredients for ‘Pizza Salad’! Rounding the corner into the kitchen they found the two ‘boys’ on their knees before the clear plastic crisper bins of the open refrigerator.

“Well lad, it would appear that the larder is stripped of that, which we need. Are you prepared to sally forth in quest of our victuals?” A small fist was thrust into the air and a high-pitched cry of ‘YAAAA!’ suggesting the ‘boys’ were about to embark on high adventure. “Then Arthur we are about to go foraging! And I swear an oath that we shall not return until we can lay our salad delight before the fair ladies.”

“YAAAA! Foraging! …. What’s foraging?”

“It’s searching and hunting and gathering your food! Just like looking for nuts and berries and edible greens if you were camping in the woods. We will be doing our hunting at the greengrocer. I’ll need your help to get just the right things. Okay?”

“I’ll help, Shermock. I’ll help good!”

“Good lad.”

**********

“Ah Watson, is that little grocery still at the corner?”

“Well, yes and no, Sherlock. It is now and upscale bodega. We are in the midst of gentrification. We used to have restaurants, shops and stores, we now have bistros, boutiques and bodegas.”

“Hmm, same products, fancier labels, annoying, disgustingly cheerful young people running about wearing dark aprons pretending to be knowledgeable and prices five times higher than before.” Sherlock’s acerbic observation brought a smile to Joan’s lips. ‘The old Sherlock was still on call when needed.’

“The bodega does have a very complete selection of fruits, vegetables, cheeses, sausages, artisan breads, ice cream and wines. I’m quite sure you’ll find whatever you might need for your salad creation.”

“Excellent!” And in a lower voice: “Do you mind if Arthur accompanies me? I’ll hold his hand the whole time. I shall guard him with my very being.”

“Of course, I trust you completely Sherlock. But Arthur hates shopping of any kind.”

“We’re not going shopping Watson. We’re going foraging!”

“Arthur, shall we go foraging, or would you rather stay at home?”

“FORAGING!” Two short arms raised above his head and more ‘happy feet’ were an unambiguous answer. Without warning the boy shot up the stairs to the foyer. In the distance they could hear the squeaky singsong of “foraging, foraging, we are going foraging”. Soon old thunder foot was on his noisy return to the kitchen. Presenting himself with a declaration of: “I’m ready!” Arthur’s enthusiasm and appearance prompted Joan to state: “Stay right there honey, let momma take a picture.” The boy’s preparations would require a few minor adjustments. His cap was slightly askew with one earflap tucked up inside and the other partially covering his face. The peacoat’s buttons were out of alignment by one hole. His hands were covered by a glove on the right and a mitten on the left. The lad’s feet were one sock enclosed and the other one bare.

Sherlock hoisted Arthur up onto the kitchen table. Joan’s request was simple: “Face the camera and smile please.” Arthur placed an elbow on Sherlocks shoulder, propped his head on his fist and displayed the uninhibited smile of pure innocence. Sherlock turned his face slightly to gaze at his tiny partner with a beatific look of pure love. Domesticity was beginning to run rampant.

**********

Rose interceded, lifting the junior member down to the floor. “Come little man let’s find all your bits and pieces and get you all sorted out. It is cold and misty out there; can’t have you going foraging unprepared.” Going up the stairs Arthur told Rose: “You ‘teached’ me how to make ‘mores’ and ‘Shermock’ is going to teach me how to make ‘pizza salad’. Ha! Billy at school is always telling us how he makes toast. I got him beat!”

“Shermock?” Joan’s look combined curiosity and concern. “Don’t look so troubled Watson. It is a nickname. The boy is at a point in vocabulary development where he is experimenting with word play.”

“While we were bathing, cleaning, and monster building, he asked me why I called you Watson and not Joan or Joanie like the other adults. I told him it was a nickname, a special name of affection and friendship. He did that furrowed brow, deep thought thing that he does, nodded and continued with his drawing. A few minutes later he casually called me ‘Shermock’ and said that was my special nickname and nobody else, but he could use it!”

“Are you comfortable with-it Sherlock? I know this whole parenting thing is new to you. I don’t want to put any more pressure on you. With the PTSD we want your stress levels as low as possible.”

**********

“Please don’t worry luv. Arthur is a tonic, a balm, the best of all possible medicines. He is healing my heart and my spirit. My only regret is that my father didn’t understand that my needs were so minimal and could have been so easily met. A hug, a pat on the head, a whispered ‘I love you’, a few minutes interest in what I was doing. It didn’t require a twenty-four seven investment. If ever I should even think of placing work above Arthur’s needs, please smite me about the head and shoulders with single stick, baton or two by four. My commitment to you and Arthur is without limit. You both shall always come first.”

Joan was stunned. No one had ever made such a total and vehement commitment to her. “Oh Sherlock, thank you.” She wanted to say more, but the words simply wouldn’t come. They stood frozen, just as they had eleven years ago when his prank had left them totally discombobulated! The moment dissolved with the entrance of a now suitably attired Arthur Watson.

**********

“Watson, how long does it take for a pizza?”

“Friday night? About an hour or so.”

“Good, you know what we all like. So, order as you wish. We ‘hunters and gathers’ will be back in half an hour. Come lad, it is time to forage!"

“YAAAAAAA! A foraging we shall go! A foraging we shall go! Hi, Ho, the Derry-O, A foraging we shall go!” To the strange mix of man and boy voices the foragers departed the Brownstone.

“Rose, how can this be so perfect?"

“You two have spent eleven years working for it.”

**********

With the boys off on their salad hunt, Joan filled Rose in on that part of the ‘master plan’ that involved her and Iris directly. Rose responded like a child at Christmas. “Oh Joan, I have been hunting for a new place, but everything I’ve found is twice as expensive. Our landlord wants us out ASAP. Are you sure this is okay with Sherlock?”

“It was Sherlock’s idea. Call Iris now. We’ll be checking out the safehouse at eleven tomorrow morning. You stay here tonight. Have Iris come here directly from the airport. Alfredo and Ms. Hudson will take us all in the van to our new lodging.”

“What van?”

“Don’t ask. Sherlock will explain all when we’re together.”

“Wow! I see what you mean. He, he is a force of nature.”

“He can drive you crazy, and yet you want to be near him. He is a man amongst boys and a boy that you want to hold and protect. In other words, he is very complex. After eleven years, I still do not fully understand him, but I can finally admit that, I love him without reservation!”

**********

Pizza ordered. Iris called. Housing problem solved. Fragrant tea warming a damp, chilly fall evening. Joan looked at Rose across the kitchen table and lamented: “I feel guilty. I should be doing something constructive. Instead, I’m playing the ‘lady of leisure’! The ‘boys’ have done the laundry, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned my room, cleaned Arthur, and are attending to dinner. What have I done?” “Joanie, you did order the pizza and we picked up Arthur’s blocks so he will be able to get to his bed later. You don’t have to do everything. Your partner is back! Enjoy!”

**********

The relaxed silence was broken by the sound of the outer door opening, a muffled cry of ‘low bridge ‘and the door closing. Same sequence repeated for the inner door. The sound of one pair of heavy steps on the staircase coupled with stifled giggles. Two voices in unison: “Low bridge!”. Entering the kitchen was a most startling sight, one that had Joan grabbing for her phone and a quick switch to video mode. Rose had her phone’s camera flashing off photos as quick as the device could cycle. Standing before them was, what could only be described as some sort of urban totem pole. The base consisted of one Sherlock Holmes with two enormous tan canvas bags filled to overflowing. The straps crossed his body, allowing his hands to remain free, but making him look like a pack animal. Upon his shoulders sat a grinning miniature version of the base. Both were clad in dark trousers, green ‘wellies’, navy peacoat, tartan scarf, leather mittens, and topped by a fur lined cap with ear flaps. The junior member of the totem team held an open, classic, black ‘brolly’. Mission accomplished! All Joan could think was: ‘They look so gloriously, grandly, adorably huggable and oh so dopey!’ Rose took the proffered umbrella while Joan lowered an excited Arthur to his feet. Outer garments were discarded and gathered by Rose. As she headed for the foyer to dispose of her burden, Arthur tore by yelling: “Gotta go ‘potti’, gotta get shoes, don’ start without me!”

**********

Sherlock exited his room into the kitchen. He now had dry trousers, THE faded yellow t-shirt emblazoned with shamrock and ‘I am not lucky! I am good!’ One of his ubiquitous vests completed his ensemble, and of course, bare feet. He stood before her, she rose to her feet, they gazed wide eyed at each other, time had vanished. His forefinger reached out, lifting her chin. A gentle kiss sent Joan back and down onto her chair. The sound of approaching footsteps left them time to exchange a small smile and a whispered ‘later’.

As Arthur burst on the scene, he raised his hands and showed them to Joan and Sherlock. “All scrubbed and sparkly clean. And, and I put the ‘potti’ seat down so momma won’t fall in.” Joan rolled her eyes and threw a side look at Sherlock. To Arthur she offered a: “Thank you honey, that was very thoughtful.” To which Sherlock added: “Well done lad.”

**********

“Can I show mommy what we bought? Please, ‘Shermock’, please? I’ll be very, very careful.” “Here, Arthur, start with this bag first.” Arthur couldn’t have been more excited if he had been playing ‘Father Christmas’. He laid the bags contents out as though they were precious gifts. The first bag was loaded with four pints of ‘caramel sea salt swirl’ two pints of ‘double chocolate chunkaroo’ and two pints of ‘chunks o’ everything’. Desert was all set! Two bottles of alcohol-free Chianti and two similar bottles of Pinot Noir. Festive beverage was all set. The second bag held the true treasures the foragers had sought. Romaine lettuce, Roma tomatoes, a block of Parmesan cheese, whole mushrooms, paper thin sliced Peperoni sausage, and a jar of the bodegas own multi-purpose Italian sauce. The salad makings were all set.

“You remembered my favorite ice cream.”

“With Arthur’s help. I remembered the ‘caramel swirl’, he remembered the ‘sea salt’.”

“I did momma, I did. Shermock and me or I are a team. Yes!”

Joan’s smile was everything Sherlock lived for, now.

**********

It was time for salad! Ice cream and other miscellany had been put away. The ‘Arthur/Shermock’ team was hard at work at the sink cleaning and cutting the salad ingredients. The ladies had assisted by opening the Chianti and a grape juice box for Arthur. With the prep work completed, Arthur brought the salad plates and napkins to the table. Sherlock placed a large cutting board with all the ingredients at the head of the table. Arthur joined him and they proceeded to assemble the incredibly special ‘pizza salad’.

“Ladies, my associate and I shall now create the very exclusive ‘salade de pizza’!” Once again Arthur giggled and whispered: “You talk funny!” “Yes, I do. Anything to make you smile and laugh.” Very carefully and precisely Arthur laid five leaves of romaine lettuce on each plate, forming a star with the stalks at the center. Next the u-shaped stalks were filled with the Italian sauce that had been thickened with chopped Roma tomatoes and mushrooms. A layer of the paper-thin pepperoni sausage and a dusting of the freshly ground parmesan cheese completed the salad. A large dollop of the sauce placed in the center of the plate where the greens met made for the perfect presentation. As Sherlock removed the cutting board, Arthur, with infinite care placed a plate before Joan and Rose. Returning to the table Sherlock was met with a very earnest young man pulling back the chair next to Joan and claiming: “For you sir.” He then scurried around to the seat next to Rose. Lifting his juice box, he exclaimed: “I would like to,” he paused to look at Sherlock, who mouthed: ‘propose’. “propose a toast! To Pizza Salad!” All joined in, ‘PIZZA SALAD!’

“Well Arthur, Sherlock went to all this trouble. Taking you foraging and making this special salad just for you. What do you think?” With eyes wide and mouth chewing frantically, he was finally able to swallow, take a sip of grape juice and declare: “This is ….. the bestest salad I have ever eaten ….. in my whole life! Do you like it momma?” “I agree Arthur I have never had a better salad even in a fancy restaurant.” Rose added: “These would make fabulous hors d’oeuvres. On a bed of crushed ice to keep them crisp, wow, I could eat them all night long!”

**********

With the salad a rousing success, the ‘boys’ finished their chores with a thorough washup of the kitchen. “Sherlock, there’s a really good dishwasher under the counter, to the right of the sink.” “Rose, that is an instrument of the devil, it is in our abodes only to create dependency and thus goad us to a better version when it inevitably fails. We are captured by devices that by design can not be fixed, only replaced. And of course, we must have the newest, the biggest, and the best! We are the drones held in thrall by the marketeers. The minions of greed!” “Sherlock?” Joan’s voice with that ‘get a grip’ tone brought his diatribe to an abrupt halt. Looking down he was met with the wide-eyed gaze of his mini partner. Sherlock knelt and started to apologize but was interrupted by a smiling Arthur’s: “I get real excited sometimes and momma gives me a big hug and a kiss and tells me to calm down.” “Does it work?” “Oh yes, she gives the best hugs and kisses. Momma come and give Shermock a big hug and a kiss.” Sherlock stood and was met with two eyes still shooting daggers, but a mouth with the slightest of smirks. Enveloped in the hug and now receiving a warm kiss on the cheek, Arthur exclaimed: “Shermock, you got to hug and kiss back.” Sherlock obliged and received a softer, longer kiss on the cheek and the clapping and laughter, and happy feet of one delighted four-year-old.

**********

A bit lightheaded, Sherlock was snapped back to reality by the buzz of the front doorbell. Pizza! “Arthur, do you know what to do?” Taking the ten-dollar bill Sherlock offered to him, the boy stood at attention and with great dignity said: “This is for you my good man, job well done!” “Perfect, lad we’ll make an English gentleman even the Queen would be proud to meet. Come our pizza awaits, tally ho!” “Tally Ho!” the tandem cry as the pair raced up the stairs.

“Do you get the feeling that we’re both nannies tonight, or straight men, or just spectators?” Both women chuckled at the strange turn of events that allowed them to observe, up close and personal, the fascinating bonding of man and boy. In the background they could hear mumbling, laughter and the closing of doors. The clatter of feet on the stairs coupled with near hysterical laughter of the two pizza buddies brought the ‘boys’ to the kitchen table. Once they had calmed down Arthur tried to tell Joan what had transpired. Three false starts scrambled by uncontrolled giggles finally brought him to the point of telling his tale. “Momma, I was going to give the tip to the pizza driver. I said: ‘This is for you my good man!’ but, but, but the pizza man was a LADY!” The three adults laughed at both the situation and the gleeful abandon of the boys telling. “Was she mad?” Joan asked. “No, no, she said it was the best tip she ever got, and I was the ‘cutest love bug’ she’d ever seen. Momma, what’s a love bug?” “Someone you just want to hug and kiss forever and ever. Now come here ‘love bug’.” A mother son hug fest with laughter and giggles ensued. Sherlock observed to himself that this was ‘nice’, and maybe he had been wrong. Years ago, he had proclaimed to Watson that there was not a ‘nice’ Sherlock lurking at his core. His deduction had been wrong. He thought: ‘My dear Watson, as always, right you are!’

**********

Once again Team Arthur/Shermock attended to cleanup and washup of the dinner detritus. Joan and Rose insisted on being of some help. Rose went to the library to set a roaring fire in the hearth. Joan brewed tea and cocoa to accompany the ice cream desert. Soon all were gathered about the fireplace enjoying the evenings treats and the warmth and shelter from the fall thunderstorm.

Sherlock sat in the armchair near the hearth, enjoying the heat of the fire on his arms and bare feet. He half listened to the conversation between Joan and Rose about move in logistics. He noted Arthur leaning against his mother and the heaviness of his eyes.

That sensation was back, that comfort, that sense of being exactly where he needed and wanted to be. Contentment, no longer a shock or even a surprise, but rather like a favorite cardigan or an old wool throw that had worn to an almost silk like feel. It was a delicious sense of safety and security like the arms of a caring parent. All those foolish disparaging comments about love, and domesticity. The rants of immaturity. The desperate cries of a man boy who was certain he did not qualify for love or joy. It was all there, just waiting. But it needed to be earned. This was not a task requiring brilliance or genius. This was all about love, devotion, and daily hard work. Today had been a good start.

**********

Rose turned to Joan and suggested that she take Arthur up and get him ready for bed. She’d call Joan when he was ready for his good night hugs and snuggle. Rose picked up half dozing Arthur and carried him up to his room. Joan moved over to the ottoman and laid her hands-on Sherlock’s knees. “You’re looking quite relaxed. Your ‘pizza salad’ was a true marvel. I wish I had your creativity.” “It’s a learned skill Watson, just like drawing or playing the piano or violin. To excel at any skill, ah that’s where genius comes in handy. Pizza salad was really just problem solving. Arthur told me what he didn’t like about salad and I merely came up with a solution. Add a bit of adventure and the lad’s imagination did the rest. You have done a magnificent job in raising him Watson. He is so affectionate and loving. His curiosity and discipline are what you’d expect in a much older child. His sense of humor and playfulness are remarkably sophisticated for one so young. If I didn’t know you had adopted Arthur, I would swear he possessed your DNA. You should be immensely proud.” Joan smiled and Sherlock once again felt complete.

Rose showed her head below the ceiling line on the stairs. “Ms. Watson, the young master desires your presence!” Joan stood, crossed the floor, and started up the stairs. Halfway up she ducked down and called quietly: “’Shermock’, Arthur wants you as well. Come.” He mounted the stairs and halted at the bedroom door. Rose stood out in the hall. He watched the final hugs, kisses, and snuggles. As stoic as Joan normally was, with Arthur there was a girlish, gleeful, uninhibited almost childlike enthusiasm. Joan sat up and smoothed Arthur’s hair. He spotted Sherlock and extended both arms. Joan move off the bed and Sherlock sat next to the boy and bent into his embrace. Arthur gave the man the biggest hug his four-year old’s arms could manage. Accompanying a juicy kiss on the cheek he whispered: “I love you Shermock. Can we go foraging again please?” “I …. Love you too Arthur. We can go foraging anytime. Now you need a good night’s sleep. Dream happy dreams my lad.” Joan stepped in to pull the blankets up as the boy’s eyes closed.

Sherlock hurried into the hall, stopped, leaned against the wall and took several short sharp breaths. Joan quietly exited Arthur’s room and closed the door. “Sherlock, are you okay?” “No, and I doubt that I shall ever be quite the same ever again. He, ….. he said, ‘I love you Shermock.’ I do believe he now owns me, completely, totally, without reservation. I need a cup of tea. It’s still early. I’ll go brew a pot. Rose toss another log on.” With that Sherlock headed down to the kitchen.

“I do believe the man has fallen in love!” Smirked Rose.

“Pizza Salad, powerful stuff.” Smiled Joan.


	7. Temporary Home:  Permanent Friends

Sunday morning, pre-dawn, the rain continued. Sherlock emerged from his room. The Brownstone whispered its song of age with the subtle creaks and groans of expansion and contraction. In his three-year running battle with Reichenbach’s minion’s he had thought often of those comforting sounds. The Brownstone was more than a building, it was a living breathing entity that had character and history. That is why he had no intention of patching, pasting, and slapping a cosmetic cover over the wounds of time. No, she was going to have a full restoration. No demolition, but a careful, maybe one could claim loving, dismantling. The old Victorian lady would reemerge as the young vibrant beauty of a hundred and fifty years ago. This would be a true labor of love. Only the finest craftsmanship would be acceptable.  
**********  
His mind made another leap. The last seventy-two hours had turned the fantasies that had sustained him during the last three years into a vibrant reality. Suddenly the world was different. A new challenge stood before him.  
A labor of love.  
His labor of love.  
Another battle.  
The Dragon Cancer!  
He now had new responsibilities. How could such contentment and apprehension reside in seeming harmony? It was illogical. He was a man of logic! But he was now also a man of love. He now had two precious human beings to hug and hold. He had someone to love. He no longer was afraid of love, of affection, of touching and being touched. That which he feared would weaken him, had instead revealed a greater inner strength. Eleven years of uncertainty had actually prepared him for the ‘change’ he thought could and would never come. That last door had been opened by a four-year-old bundle of innocence and unfettered love. The lad had opened Sherlock to his own childhood. The emptiness, the loneliness, the fear. But in those few hours yesterday Arthur had helped Sherlock to realize that parenting offered joys and satisfaction that far outstripped the doubts and anxieties. Sherlock’s anger at his own father now morphed into pity. Morland Holmes had missed so much.  
**********  
“Sherlock?”  
His name startled him. He turned to stare at Joan.  
“The kettle?”  
“Oh. Yes. Sorry. Thinking.” He removed the shrieking kettle from the stove.  
“Good thoughts? Bad thoughts? Second thoughts?”  
“Ahh. Good thoughts. Wonderful thoughts. Well, one sad thought.”  
“And that sad thought?”  
“I always saw myself as the sole victim in my ‘deprived’ childhood. But Arthur, in just a few hours taught me to appreciate all the ‘small joys’ that my father had missed. He was the true loser in our relationship. And it also made me realize that my fear of damaging our partnership was also the fear of losing all those ‘small joys’ that we shared each day. It is most amazing how much I learned from your four-year-old scholar.” Joan’s quiet laughter filled the kitchen with a musical warmth.  
“Bye the bye Watson, what are you doing up at this hour.”  
“I couldn’t sleep. In just twenty-four hours mister, you have spoiled me rotten! I didn’t have an arm around me to make me feel all safe and secure. And when I did wake there was no heart beating chest to make me feel all warm and snuggly. You’ve corrupted me. You have a lot of explaining to do!”  
“It’s quarter of five, time for a cuppa and two or three hours of explaining. If you so desire?”  
“I shall desire several full and complete explanations. No condensations or abbreviations. And certainly, no CliffsNotes!”  
“I stand or lie at your command.”  
**********  
Three hours later.  
**********  
“Oh good, you’re both up. I’ve been dying for a good, bad, or indifferent cup of java.” As Rose headed for the cupboard Sherlock sprang to his feet.  
“Sit Rose, I’ll attend to the morn’s caffeine libation.”  
“Hey this isn’t going to be one of your rodent vomit or pachyderm poop drinks?”  
“You wound me woman. For you I shall prepare a more conventional Columbian. Light, medium, or dark roast.?”  
“Medium. What smells so good?”  
Joan smirked and replied: “Under certain circumstance, Sherlock bakes. What you smell are strawberry, blueberry, and peach scones. Be prepared to be delighted.”  
Soon the three were deep in coffee, tea, and scones. They were soon joined by a sleepy faced little boy who wanted to know what smelled so yummy. Crawling into his mother’s lap he accepted a bite of scone and smiled with satisfaction.  
“Sherlock made theses.” Whispered Joan.  
“He’s a good cook.” The boy noted.  
“He’s pretty good at almost everything.” Responded his mother.  
“Say lad, can I get you some milk or cocoa or juice?”  
“I think I’d like some cocoa, please.”  
And so, breakfast became a rather ‘catch as catch can’ enterprise. Everyone seemed content with a bit here and a bit there. No demands, only the warm, gentle embrace of people who liked and loved each other.  
**********  
“Rose what time is Iris due?”  
“If the flight’s on time, it should be on the ground now, Joan.”  
“You excited?” Smirked Joan.  
“Oh no, she’s only been gone for a month!!!” Rose glared and then looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You guys separated for so long and I’m doing all the whining.” With that Rose’s phone pinged. Rose read the text aloud: “Tall skinny black dude and tall gorgeous blonde straight out of the fifties complete with angora and pearls want me to come with them. Am I safe? Ha! Ha! See you soon.” Looking at Sherlock, Rose asked: “Did you send Alfredo and Ms. Hudson?”  
“Of course. If Iris has been skiing with her nanny charges for the last month, I must deduce that she has more equipment than most taxis can handle comfortably. The van can accommodate quite a load. And if all goes well, we’ll have you two moved and settled in by the end of the day. Thus, no need to handle her kit more than necessary. Logical hmmmm?”  
“Well, time for a last cup before we brave a cold rainy New York City.” Joan’s declaration was met with proffered empty mugs. One coffee, one cocoa, and two teas.  
For the first time in an age, all seemed under control. This wasn’t a major project today; it was a family Sunday outing.  
**********  
The front door buzzer sent an excited Rose charging up the stairs to the foyer. Not far behind was the junior member of the team. Joan and Sherlock stood, stretched, and shared a brief kiss. The plan was now in motion. They made their way upstairs to join the noisy greeting festivities in the foyer.  
“Hey, you, what was that text all about? You’ve known Ms. Hudson and Alfredo as long as I have.”  
“I was all psyched up to do battle with all my gear and NYC cabbies. Then I saw those two and I knew I was home. I guess I got all giddy and silly. Hey, that’s some set of wheels out there. We starting a war or are we sharing this new pad with POTUS?” The deceptively petite, blonde blue-eyed Iris turned and looked Sherlock squarely in the eye. “You’re Holmes, eh?” She thrust her hand forward and announced: “Walker, Iris J Walker, Captain U S Army retired. Taking her firm calloused grip he responded: “A distinct honor and pleasure Captain.”  
Iris looked Sherlock over from head to bare toes as if he were a raw recruit standing his first inspection. She snapped the back of her right hand hard off his belly. She nodded approvingly. “Not bad, not bad at all. For a civilian.” She looked into his eyes again; ‘No, he might not be military, but he definitely wasn’t a civilian. Those were the eyes of a warrior. He had been in harm’s way.’  
“Well? What’s the plan?”  
Before anyone could answer Iris’ quire, the front door opened, and Alfredo stuck his head in.  
“You guys comin’ or are we doin’ somethin’ different.?”  
“Where’s the van?” Sherlock mumbled.  
“Parked right out front. I thought you had done some of your magic or pulled some strings or somethin’. You know, like you do, Sherlock.”  
“Good omen. Not my doing. Why don’t the rest of you go grab a scone and a cuppa, and Watson can fill you in on the master plan. Meanwhile young Arthur and I shall finish our ablutions and garner proper attire.”  
Arthur giggled, “You talk funny.”  
Sherlock and Arthur headed upstairs. Joan and the ‘gang’ headed downstairs.  
**********  
Congregating once again in the foyer Sherlock asked Arthur: “Up front with Alfredo and Clio or back with us?”  
“I wan’na help drive.”  
“Got the booster, Alfredo?”  
“Picked it up yesterday. Got one for the back too. We’re all safe and legal.”  
“Good man. Well, let’s be on our way.”  
As they pulled away from the Brownstone, Joan observed: “The last time I was in this thing was when we were on our way with your father to meet that horrible woman. The one who wanted your father to head up her criminal enterprise.”  
“You mean Ms. Hashemi! A nasty bit of work. But she did provide the means for father to enter and start the dissolution of Moriarty’s enterprise. It also gave him the ability to ultimately engage Reichenbach and bring that monsters madness to light……………. He paid the ultimate price while trying to protect us…………… But I like to think that he rather enjoyed being one of the ‘good guys’ for a change. Eh? Watson.”  
“Yes, I believe he enjoyed his collaborations with you. Being one of your ‘unusuals’ as he chose to call them.”  
“True, Watson. He thought ‘irregulars’ sounded too much like a malfunctioning digestive system.”  
“I’ve ridden in military vehicles that weren’t built this tough.” observed Iris.  
“You will find that Morland Holmes skimped at nothing when it came to security and comfort. He had immense wealth and incredible intellect and a very cultivated and refined taste in all the pleasures of life. Art, music, literature, science, wines, and haute cuisine were all part of the man’s repertoire. He had the power to make and break heads of state. It has been suggested he could start and stop wars. Papa could be both very charming and extremely intimidating! For the next few months, we will be living in a penthouse that father owned for ten years before he died, and yet I doubt that he spent ten nights in residence. We shall have all the benefits of the ultimate in luxury and security.” As Sherlock finished, the van pulled up to a nondescript rollup steel door.  
**********  
An armed doorman approached and greeted Sherlock, who had opened the sliding door of the van.  
“Good day Mr. Holmes.”  
“Good morning Mr. Parker”  
“Peaches.” The doorman’s challenge.  
“and spoiled cream.” Holmes reply.  
The garage door rose and the van advanced.  
Once inside, all exited the van. Rose and Iris immediately gave the space a thorough inspection. No hidden corners. Embedded, shielded, ceiling lights. Card access, bullet proof glass enclosed elevator entrance. Hundred per cent video and audio coverage.  
**********  
Rose turned to Sherlock. “This Fort Knox or the Pentagon?”  
“No.” responded Sherlock with a chortle. “We are entering one of father’s ‘sanctum sanctorum’. A twenty-four thousand square foot penthouse not counting the rooftop with swimming pool, pergola, changing rooms, outdoor kitchen and helipad. As I said, father didn’t cut corners. Everything will be subtle and understated, but the very latest and the best. A special trust pays for all maintenance, utilities, and upgrades.”  
Entering the elevator last, Sherlock was met by the outstretched arms of the smallest team member. Sweeping Arthur up into his arms and planting him on his hip he asked, “There, can you see better?”  
Arthur nodded and asked, “can I push the button Shermock, please, please?”  
“There is no button to push. But you can wave my keycard in front of the sensor and off we’ll go. Okay?” Again, the boy nodded.  
As they started their ascent the boy asked, “Shermock, do you have a helicopter?”  
“No lad, no, my father did but I don’t”  
“Shermock, when you were a little by, what did you call your daddy?”  
Sherlock froze momentarily. Looked to Joan expectantly.  
Joan, having watched this small tableau play out with the joy of seeing her son further bond with the man she most loved and respected, there was also a small twinge of jealousy at having to share her greatest treasure.  
“Well. Arthur when I was your age, I called my father Papa.”  
“Paapa?” The boy parroted.  
“Emphasis on the second syllable. Papaa!”  
“Papaa!” the boy repeated.  
“Just so.”  
**********  
Entering the apartment, was a step into another realm. That unique world of the mega rich. And yet there was an unexpected sterility to it. It was too perfect. It was the epitome of design, but there were no signs of humanity. It came straight from a magazine layout. No one had really lived here.  
Soon the ooos and the aaas were supplanted by ‘wow look at this’, ‘man what a view’, ‘that fireplace is big enough to walk into, ‘golly the piano is all white’. Exclamations at all the novelties that money could buy.  
Sherlock stood at the twelve-stool breakfast bar in the giant commercial gourmet kitchen that could feed a hundred if need be. Around the corner skidded Arthur.  
“Shermock, Shermock, my room's got four bunk beds with sliding curtains so you can hide!” Sherlock scooped the boy up.  
“Do you like your room?”  
“Oh yes it’s really cool. And I got an office with a desk and everything.”  
“I thought that was your playroom.”  
“Oh, it’s big enough for everything.”  
“Did you check the drawers and closets?”  
“No, but I’m going to!” and with that Arthur wiggled free and tore off to seek out new secrets and treasures.  
Sherlock leaned back against the bar and looked at the ceiling. Down the hall he could hear Arthur call: “Momma, Momma come look. I got four bunk beds and an office an a desk an everything. Hurry Momma hurry.”  
He exhaled a long-held breath.  
**********  
A steaming mug of spiced tea was held in front of Sherlock. Only one person in the world brewed this particular concoction. “Ms. Hudson, just what I needed.”  
Clio ventured: “You miss him.”  
“what?”  
“Your father.”  
Again, Sherlock exhaled and nodded. “It isn’t that I want to go back in time and rearrange the universe and start all over again. I surmise that I just wanted him to see how easy it is to love and be loved by a child. I wanted him to see what he had missed.”  
“I think he knew what he had missed. I believe that’s why he wanted to work with you, his son. To collaborate. He put himself at risk for you and Joan not simply out of a sense of duty. I choose to see it as an act of love. So, should you Sherlock.”  
“Thank you, Clio, that was a kindness.”  
“No, Sherlock, it was the truth. When we were at Eton, you saved my life. You helped me to have the courage to accept what and who I really was. You did that by telling and showing me the truth. I’m merely trying to return the favor.”  
Sherlock turned and gave his oldest friend a hug of monumental proportion. These two, for nearly forty years had managed to be there for each other. An unspoken connection, a bond and trust that united them at a subliminal level. To most, this type of connection would be almost supernatural. To Sherlock and Clio it just, was.  
“Should I be jealous? “ Joan approached with a smirk in both tone and appearance. She sidled up to Sherlock and slid under his arm. Her scent overpowered him. A veil of sensation that removed him to a detached state that sent a shiver from head to toe. Leaning to her he deposited a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Joan looked up and their smiles met. They both turned at the sound of quiet sniffling. Clio was dabbing at her cheeks with her monogramed handkerchief.  
“Oh, you two, you make me so happy. I’ve wanted this for so long. I had just about given up all hope. All these years of whispering in your ears and dropping hints, subtle and blatant. And you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, running off to save the world. I could just smack you so hard! I even felt guilty for being happy when Alfredo and I got together. And now you’re ruining my makeup!”  
Arthur crawled up onto the nearest stool, looked at Ms. Hudson then turned to Joan and Sherlock. With a contented smile and nod he pointed to Clio and said: “Happy tears, yep, happy tears.” All agreed.  
**********  
“Joan, where is everyone?” Clio threw the question back over her shoulder as she led Arthur into the kitchen in search of snacks and juice.  
“Alfredo, Rose and Iris took off about half an hour ago. They thought they’d be back in a couple of hours. They’ve only got clothes and some books and Knick knacks. Shouldn’t take those three very long.”  
“I’ll give Alfe a call and see what they’d like. We can make this lunch, brunch, or early supper.” Walking over to the counter Clio whispered: “What is ‘Pizza Salad’? Arthur wants to help cook. He says that he makes a ‘world class ‘Pizza Salad’ Shermock? says so.”  
Joan giggled: “Shermock is Arthur’s special, private, exclusive nickname for Sherlock. Sherlock can tell you the rest of the story.”  
“He also said that if we don’t have all the right stuff, he’ll take me foraging?”  
“I’ll go track Sherlock down. He’s probably up on the roof deciding where to put the bees.”  
“Joan.” Clio walk around the counter and hugged Joan and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you. I was going to say, ‘for being family’. But we’re better than that; we’re friends.”  
**********  
It might be a temporary home, but it was filled with permanent friends.


	8. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Watson/Holmes duo now have a new residence. The new challenge is to find a way for young Arthur to have a successful 'trick or treat' experience. Friends, family, and irregulars combine to satisfy that goal.

The move had gone flawlessly. Luc and his equally large and silent Haitian brothers had transported the various goods and materials to the appropriate places. The Brownstone was ready for the meticulous dismantling. The personal effects of Sherlock, Joan and Arthur were now ensconced in the safe house, thirty-five stories in the NYC skyline. All the unneeded items had been transported to the warehouse.  
Joan, Iris, and Rose had spent the day shopping. Accumulating all the miscellany that make a house a home. By the end of the day, the sterility of the ‘safehouse’ had been transformed into a ‘safe home’. Now there was warmth, humanity, and above all, love.  
Sherlock and Arthur had spent the day making sure that Arthurs ‘office’ was properly stocked with the various books and supplies the young man might need. Then it was off to the park for a bit of football. Lunch from a sidewalk vendor. Then on to the riverside to watch the tugboats, barges, freighters, and ferries ply the waters of New York City. During their day together, Arthur changed his career goals seven times and managed to keep a perpetual smile on Sherlock’s face. A Late afternoon ice cream treat, that Joan most likely would not approve, brought them to the high-rise foyer.  
The doorman greeted them with a “Good afternoon Mr. Holmes. Good afternoon to you Master Watson.” Arthur looked to sherlock with surprise.  
“Shermock, he knows our names.”  
“Yes, yes he does. How does a gentleman respond?”  
Arthur hesitated, thought for a moment, and stuck his right hand out to the doorman. “I am Arthur Watson; it is a pleasure to meet you. What is your name?”  
“My name is Sydney. It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Watson.”  
Into the elevator they strode. “Shermock, when we move back to the Brownstone will we have a doorman?”  
“No lad, it will just be we few, I doubt we’ll need help with the door.”  
**********  
Entering the apartment Arthur asked: “Shernock can I have a real computer?”  
“You have one Arthur.”  
“No, that’s a baby computer, you know, all little kids’ colors and simple learning programs with all those silly songs and stuff.”  
“We will have to have a meeting with you mother. She’s in charge of all matters educational.”  
With a big sigh Arthur nodded and said: “Okay.”  
**********  
Turning the corner into the living room the ‘boys’ were met with a scene of domestic bliss. The sterile almost hotel like atmosphere was gone. The three ladies sat sipping tea before the massive fireplace. The setting sun cast the special amber hues of fall across the living room. It was a reminder of Cambridge and fallen leaves and the faint smell of smoke in the chill air. For a moment Sherlock drifted to a previously unvisited realm, nostalgia.  
An abrupt return to reality was Joan’s quire: “Well, what have you two been up to all day?” Arthur crashed on to his mother’s lap and began a rapid recitation of the day’s activities. Arthur’s spirited antics soon had all three women laughing and posing questions to the pint-sized raconteur.  
Sherlock wandered the apartment, taking in the additions that now dressed walls and furniture. Having lived in physical chaos, or mess as others might term it, Sherlock found a strange and new comfort in the casual orderliness of Joan, Rose, and Iris’ efforts. Returning to the living room, he was drawn to the fireplace. The eight-foot mantle contained a score of picture frames displaying family and friends, past and present. There sat one blank frame. Picking it up he turned to Joan and with an ironic smile asked: “Me?”  
“I hope so.” Joan answered with some apprehension. She knew how the ‘old’ Sherlock felt about privacy. “While you were gone and I wondered what had become of you; I went through every box, every scrap of paper, your computer, phone, anything to keep hold of you. Nothing! No pictures, no correspondence, only a few of your cryptic text messages. I want pictures of you everywhere at every age. I know how you feel about such things. But could……….”  
Sherlock raised two fingers, his usual sign of interruption and irritation. But this time with a smile and a resigned sigh, he stated: “Take all the pictures you care to. I shall contact the Major Domo at the estate in Sussex and have him mount a search for any items of my youth archived in the Holmes library and the family chapel.”  
“Are you some kind of Lord or Duke or something? Estate? Library? Church?” Iris’ exclamation extracted a brief laugh from sherlock.  
“The Holmes family have been landed gentry since Hieronymus Holmes, my great, great, great, grandfather. A family of Naval officers and merchant ship owners. My father Morland took the family holdings to astronomical heights. With his murder and my fake death, everything got just a bit complicated. An army of solicitors, lawyers and attorneys in London, Brussels, New York, Tokyo, Hong Kong, and the Caribbean are sorting it all out. So, for the moment I stand as the scion of the Holmes estate and Watson and Arthur are my heirs.”  
“What did I tell you?” Rose nudged Iris. “We didn’t move into an apartment, we moved into an adventure!”  
“Well Rosey, it’s time for me to move into that fantabulous kitchen. Can’t let that ‘Condon Bleu’ training go to waste.”  
“When she cooks, I’m on perpetual KP. Iris is not happy unless she is using every pot, pan, bowl, and utensil within a mile. I must start cleaning about thirty seconds after she starts or else it’ll look like she tossed a grenade in there. I better get a move on, it’s the only place where she outranks me.” With that Rose was off to join her spouse.  
**********  
Joan stretched out on the couch. Sherlock went to check on Arthur. Joan drifted into a half awake, state of comfort and security.  
“The lad is tuckered out. He resides in top bunk number two. I fear I have failed parenting 101. I forgot afternoon nap. Forgive me, I am an amateur at this, but I shall do all I can to be a good example to the boy. He is so precious.” Sherlock’s confession only further convinced Joan that no one else could be a better father for her Arthur than her Sherlock. This gave her great comfort. What ever the future held, she knew that Arthur would grow to be a fine man.,  
“Sherlock, I know how you abhor most holidays and all the trappings that go with them. But, but I, I really want Arthur to be a normal, healthy, little boy.”  
“Shhh, My love. I do understand.” His kiss was but a gentle graze upon her lips, but it told of his commitment to Joan and her son. “I have spent my life on the outside, always looking in. That will not be Arthur’s fate. Am I correct in assuming that you are concerned about the approaching pseudo pagan celebration, Halloween?”  
“Yes, oh great mind reader!”  
“Ha, you mock me!”  
“Yes, I do. Teasing you is one of those ‘small joys’ that you have spoken of in the past. But seriously, Sherlock, I took Arthur Trick and Treating last year, for the first time. He was costumed as the most adorable ‘Honeybee’ that anyone had ever seen. With that sly little grin of his, he captivated every person we encountered. I think he enjoyed the attention more than the candy. With all the ‘gentrification’ going on in the old neighborhood I don’t know if there will be much Trick and Treating. Do you know what might be happening around here?”  
“Well my dear Watson, I am not tuned into the social network here bouts. But I do have a connection. Monica and Estelle, the concierge for the building, know everything about everything. So, let us call.”  
**********  
“Monica, Sherlock Holmes. Joan and I were wondering about the Trick or Treat situation in this neighborhood. Arthur is four years old and this will be his second Halloween adventure. Yes……. Really…...... Interesting……… Well I ……… No, but ………. You……. Yes……. Joan and I and Arthur shall be delighted. Thank you, Monica, that is most kind of you. We look forward with great anticipation. Thank you again.”  
“That was remarkable. I must meet this Monica. That was the most one-sided conversation I have ever heard you have since we met. She barely let you have a word. Incredible!”  
“Well luv, we are now committed to the building’s Halloween soiree. I have just learned a great deal about our building from Miss Monica.”  
“What do you mean OUR building?” Joan instantly sat upright.  
“I guess I inherited not just the safe house, but the whole bloody building. That’s the trust that supports the apartment. Anyway, the gala is held in the foyer. Since father didn’t want any retail, cluttering the elegance of his building, there is over twenty thousand square feet of space plus a similar space in the adjacent garden/park/patio over the underground garage. They set up forty mini booths for those who wish to make a small charitable contribution. The booths are decorated, and the costumed renters hand out the treats to the Trick or Treaters. There is a small music group for dancing and a cash bar for the adults. The event starts at five PM for the youngest and concludes at ten. A special booth is being set aside for us since we will be the honorary host and hostess for the evening.”  
Joan sat with mouth agape. “Sherlock, you do understand that this is a party?” She continued staring at him. “You know, laughing, talking, shaking hands, hugging and all those other social things. Are you really prepared for all that?”  
“Ms. Watson, I was raised to be a proper English gentleman. I shall be an exemplary host. May I count on a similar effort on your part?”  
“Of course, my liege. Withiest thou lead I shall follow.”  
**********  
Half an hour later Joan, Sherlock, Arthur, Iris and Rose sat around the breakfast nook table enjoying Iris’ dinner delight. Joan asked between mouthfuls, how many nights would Iris be doing the cooking. Iris responded that she and Clio were working on a schedule. Friday was locked in as pizza, ice cream and movie night by edict of Mr. Arthur Watson. Sunday would be family, friends, and guests buffet night. All else was up for debate. All agreed that iris could cook anytime and all the time, whatever she wished.  
“Arthur me lad, Halloween is almost upon us. What would you like to be this year? Your, mother said that you were a honeybee last year.”  
“Momma wouldn’t let me sting anybody, so I don’t want to be a bee this year. I…. I…. want to be a FLYING MONKEY!!!!! And momma can be the green witch and Iris can be Dorothy and Rose can be the lion and, and, and we need more people.”  
“It would appear that we have our theme. And the young man is correct, we need more people. Alfredo could be the tinman, Sean as the scarecrow and Ms. Hudson as Glinda.”  
“What will you be Shermock? Huh? You gotta come Shermock. You gotta come! Please? Please?”  
Sherlock swept Arthur into a bearhug and exclaimed: “Of course I’ll be there. I would not miss it for anything. You do know, flying monkeys are not very cute.”  
“I know, I know but they’re real scary! What are you going to be Shermock?”  
“I promise I will be something, incredibly special. Nobody else will be what I’m going to be. Okay?  
“Okay Shermock.”  
**********  
Later, with Arthur tucked in for the night and Rose and Iris ensconced in their suite, Joan and Sherlock sat watching the fire in the hearth. It had been a hectic but satisfying day. A decidedly domestic day. One which a few weeks earlier neither could have imagined.  
“What kind of mother must I be if my son wants me to be the Wicked Witch of the West?”  
“The best kind Watson. Remember this is a small boy. To him the Witch is the very best character. You will have a green face, a really ugly nose and the meanest, scariest, cackle that anybody has ever heard. Now if you had a daughter the same age, I am sure she would want you to be Glinda, the beautiful witch.”  
“I’m certainly glad I have you to interpret the four-year-old male mind.” Leaning against sherlock, Joan whispered: “What kind of Witch would you like me to be tonight?”  
“You choose luv, your magic is always overwhelming.”  
**********  
Morning brought tea, toast and inspiration. There were calls to be made. A certain ‘irregular’s’ genius to be tapped. Time was short but Sherlock loved challenges. He was out and about before the rest of the household had stirred. For the first time he approached his project with a certain glee; not for what he would receive, but for the pleasure it would bring others, especially Arthur and Joan. ‘By Jove this is fun! Ha!’  
Joan rolled over; Sherlock was gone. Not surprising. She buried her face in the sheets; his warmth and scent lingered. It was strange how this massive, custom made bed (Regal? Imperial? Emperor?) made her feel tiny, almost childlike when she slept alone. With sherlock, it became a fantastic adult playground that was just the right size! Joan smirked into the sheets; she had become a fifty-year-old teenager. It was grand.  
The day passed with a flurry of text messages from Sherlock issuing directives and edicts. The last messages called for Alfredo to bring the van and pick up Sherlock and gear. Joan was to assemble all the ‘cast’ at the penthouse for burgers, brew, and rehearsal.  
**********  
The security system announced the presence of Sherlock, Alfredo, and some rather large objects in the elevator. A few minutes later the double doors to the apartment opened to the rumble of two large, fully loaded garment racks being pushed by Sherlock and Alfredo. It was immediately assumed that these were the costumes. Peering from behind one rack was an incredibly special guest.  
Joan jumped from her stool, crying ‘Muqin’ the smiling woman replied, ‘wo de haizi’! Mother and daughter in each other’s embrace after a nearly three-month separation.  
“Mom I thought you were planning on staying at Oren’s until after New Year’s?” Their reunion was interrupted by Arthur’s cry of ‘nainai’ and Mary Watson’s loving response of ‘Ge lan sen’. Arthur swiftly dragged his delighted grandmother off toward his room. As they retreated down the hallway, everyone could hear Arthur proclaim that ‘nainai’ could have a top bunk, because ‘they were the best’!  
**********  
Soon everyone was gathered on the three twelve-foot sofas that formed the conversation pit facing the massive fireplace. Iris and Ms. Hudson had combined their talents and produced a phenomenal feast of stuffed, baked, hamburgers that even Sherlock's limited palate found absolutely wonderous. Now it was time for ice cream, popcorn, hot chocolate, and the evenings special feature. ‘The Wizard of Oz’! Arthur assured everyone that this was ‘the bestest movie of all time’, and that they would ‘really like it a lot’! Arthur sat contentedly between his ‘nainai’ and his ‘muqin’. His world was perfect.  
Sherlock stood to the side of the fireplace. “I’d be much more comfortable if Mason were here to make this all work properly.” Pushing a key on his phone, two panels slid back above the mantel, revealing a television monitor nearly ten feet wide. Another touch and the screen came to life. “Well this may work after all. During the yellow brick road sequence, Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tinman, and Cowardly lion, please pay attention to the skipping and singing. It’s all quite simple but very effective. We’ll practice before the party starts tomorrow evening. Now then, on with the show.”  
Sherlock morphed from master of ceremonies to waiter flawlessly. Ice cream replenished, popcorn bowls refilled, cocoa and mini marshmallows topped off. The audience all cheered, booed, laughed and applauded at the appropriate places. Sherlock was acutely aware that ‘fun’ was no longer a waste of time, but a restorative. It made him feel good. As the film credits rolled by, the last line of the film suddenly brought a lump to his throat.  
“There’s no place like home.”  
The fitting of the costumes went quickly. Sherlock’s infallible eye had produced outfits, sized to perfection. Ms. Hudson was an ethereal Glinda, the good witch. Sean’s fey scarecrow brought a delightful aspect to the creature’s search for a brain. Iris, in pigtails and pinafore was the perfect Dorothy. Alfredo’s quiet persona was exactly right for the tinman’s quest for a heart. Rose as the cowardly lion had a magnificent roar. But the remaining time she succumbed to very unlionlike giggles. Joan and Mary as a unique mother daughter Wicked Witch duo would not be ready to terrorize until they were in full green makeup, but their cackles were in world class form. Arthur was in full mean flying monkey mode except for his adorable grin. No matter how hard he tried to look ugly and mean, he was just too darn cute.  
The evening ended early. Sean was staying with Alfredo and Clio. The three were involved in the fulltime supervision of the Brownstone renovation. They would return on the next afternoon for the evening’s festivities. Mary was doing that which she loved most. Reading, singing, dancing, and playing with her littlest angel, Arthur. Iris and Rose passed by, offering a giggling ‘good night’ while carrying a bottle of champagne. They obviously had their own pre-Halloween festivities planned.  
Joan mumbled: “Let’s go check on the ‘kids’ and call it a night.” Her eyes were already in the process of closing. Sherlock swept Joan up from the couch.  
“Better put me on my feet or I’ll be asleep before we reach Arthur’s room.”  
“As you wish luv.”  
Arthur’s door was slightly ajar. The room was dark except for the glow of his T-Rex nightlight. Arthur’s bed was empty, but a check of the bunkbeds found grandma and grandson cuddled together in slumber. A kiss on each sleeper’s cheek by both Joan and Sherlock insured sweet dreams for all.  
Upon closing the door, Sherlock swept Joan into his arms, this time, without resistance. She tucked her head under his chin and was fast asleep before he had trod the hall to the master suite. Carefully undressing and clothing Joan in her favorite ‘jammies’, Sherlock tucked his ‘luv’ in for the night. Turning to take a quick shower, he was stopped by the whispered declaration: “You are and shall continue to be a wonderful father.” For an instant, the room seemed to move. He took his shower. He then joined the woman who continued to save his life every day in so many ways.  
**********  
Halloween dawned clear and crisp. The forecast called for unseasonably warm highs in the seventies. Perfect for the indoor/outdoor festivities. Joan, Rose, and Iris continued the refinements to the apartment’s décor. A couple of quick trips to local shops for this, that, and the other thing kept the energetic trio well occupied.  
Mary chose to stay behind and supervise and kibitz the T-Rex that Sherlock and Arthur were designing and assembling from a mountain of Legos. The work went well; by the time they finished for the day, the monster had two legs and a connecting lower abdomen. All the participants were quite pleased.  
Early in the day Mary had started a vat of one of one of her famous Chinese soups. Combined with sandwiches and ‘pizza salad’, all were fortified for the evening’s fun. Promptly at four PM everyone went to theur rooms and changed into their costumes and makeup. Forty-five minutes later ‘The Wizard of Oz’ had come alive. Everyone stood ready except for Sherlock.  
“Alright everyone, it’s time to go. When you get downstairs, Monica will direct you to the special double display area. Tables with several small cauldrons of candy will be in place. In the center will be a giant cauldron on a fake fire, large enough for the meanest flying monkey to pop out. He shall be attended by, I must say, two of the most fetching witches I have ever seen. When I arrive, Dorothy, Tinman, Scarecrow, Cowardly Lion, Glinda, and I shall make our song and dance circuit of the foyer. Upon completion then the meanest monkey, the two wicked witches and I shall set forth to collect monkey treats. Now go. You all look great.  
**********  
The moment had arrived. The double eight-foot-high doors of the freight elevator slid open. The lights in the foyer dimmed. Suddenly strobe lights flashed fake lightning. Hidden speakers rumbled thunder. A funnel cloud emerged form the elevator. What appeared to be a debris cloud spread at its base. Free of the elevator, the tornado slowly rose to nearly twenty feet. Lightning flashed at the top and thunder and howling wind burst from internal speakers. The cyclone made its way slowly to the Watson-Holmes area to the cheers, laughter, and applause of the party participants. Pausing, the whirlwind enjoyed the joyous antic of one small monkey crying out ‘wow, wow, wow!’ Additionally, the group was treated to the rare sight of a green witch hugging a tornado. The evening was off to a great start.  
The Watson-Holmes crew sang and danced their absolute best imitation of the ‘Wizard of Oz’ characters ‘yellow brick road’ sequence. What they might have lacked in talent they compensated for with enthusiasm. A small music group provided dance tunes for the mature partiers. A cash bar opened for the older partiers.  
The penthouse crew gathered to receive the plaudits of the remaining tenants. Iris and Rose suggested it was time to take a very weary flying monkey and his cauldron of goodies upstairs. Mary said that she too had enough 'high heel time' and was ready to ‘put her feet up’.  
Joan looked to the tornado. “Sherlock, that is you in there, is it not?” Suddenly the lower half of the tornado opened like a double door. Out stepped an immaculately tuxedo attired Sherlock Holmes. The crowd roared.  
“Of course, my dear Watson. Who else did you expect?”  
The party ended with dancing, drinking and good fellowship. The tenants left with the conviction that the owners of the building were the most charming and generous people that one could imagine.  
**********  
With Arthur and Mary safely tucked away for the night, Sherlock and Joan returned to the master suite.  
“Watson, you look spectacular, sleek, that dress looks painted on.”  
“Mother thought we’d both would look best if we neglected to wear any under garments, you know, no unsightly lines?”  
“Well, well, well. it would seem that the acorn falls not far from the tree.”  
“Turn the bed down the bed Sherlock, I’ll have this makeup off shortly. Just remember, the makeup may be gone but the witch remains. Prepare yourself.”  
Sherlock lay naked upon Joan’s bed. Joan, also naked, emerged form the bath. She smiled. Her broomstick awaited.  
She mounted.  
They flew into the night.  
**********  
BOO! Happy Halloween


	9. And So, It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The diagnosis changes. The prognosis changes. The therapy changes. Joan panics. Sherlock intervenes. Help or hindrance?

The Year of Cancer and Beyond  
Chapter Nine  
And So, It Begins  
**********  
“Hey Sherlock, you need anything I can bring back?”  
“No luv………. Good grief, we sound so domestic and middle class.”  
“Yeah, middle class and living in a fifteen-million-dollar dump. We’ve become so ‘bourgeoisie’! What next? A van? Oh wait. We have one. Of course, it is bullet and bombproof!”  
They both shared intimate laughter as Joan left for her last series of tests and instructions before her surgery and chemo, the following week. Arthur was in preschool. Iris was off to class at Columbia. Rose was at the piano practicing the etudes Sherlock had chosen for her renewed lessons. The new rhythm of the unofficial Watson-Holmes, household had begun.  
**********  
Sherlock had retreated to the shared office/den to peruse a few ancient cold cases. His computer beeped and opened a small window showing Joan entering the elevator. Nearly three hours had elapsed. Something was wrong. Sherlock expanded the security window. Her body language, all the haptic signals shouted trouble. He proceeded to the foyer, to subtlety greet her. As Joan entered the front door, Sherlock paused as if on his way to Rose and her piano practice.  
“How did your appointment go, Watson?”  
Joan swept by, neither looking at him nor acknowledging his question. Swiftly striding down the hall she entered the master suite, closed, and locked the door. Having heard the door lock, Sherlock stood and pondered his next move. This would require that which is always in short supply, patience. The two of them were virtually identical in their approach to problem solving. They needed time to think, analyze, hypothesize, and focus. Then and only then would they be ready to verbalize the problem to others. He would give her two hours.  
**********  
Time expired. He tapped on the door. No response. He tapped again. Nothing. Suddenly visions of past cases, suicides, bathtubs red with the drained lives of…….. NO! NO!  
Taking ‘picks’ from his wallet, his nimble fingers quickly opened the lock. Pushing opening the door, he found Joan perched on the edge of one of the chairs in the seating area by the windows. She stared off into space. Walking slowly toward her he asked.  
“Joan, are you alright?”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Was there bad news from Tellavecchio?”  
“Sherlock, I want you to leave.”  
“What?”  
“Sherlock, you promised, that if I ever wanted you to leave, you would go and not give me any trouble.”  
“What’s going on Watson. This does not make any sense. This isn’t like you at all.”  
“How do you know what is like me. You have been gone for the last three years. I have been on my own. I have all new responsibilities. I have employees. I am a doctor again. I am an author. I am a mother. I AM A MOTHER.” Her voice and respiration reached a crescendo at the last phrase. She paused to regain her breathe and composure.  
Quietly, with an emotionless tone she said; “I have decided to send Arthur to live with Oren. I have already talked to him and he will be here to pick up Arthur tomorrow. I won’t need you; I have all the family and friends that I’ll require. You can go off and continue saving the world. I don’t need you to babysit the ‘thing’ that I shall become!”  
“Watson! What are you talking about? What THING!”  
“I am going to be a ‘thing’. I’m going to have a double mastectomy and I will have chemo and I will lose all my hair. I will be hideous; you won’t want to see, much less touch me. I can’t have Arthur see me die. NO! No! Go away, go away.” As he drew near to her, she burst into hysterical sobs and pushed him violently away. “Go, go, your big brain and deductive powers aren’t of any use here. GET OUT!”  
**********  
Sherlock spun on his heel and exited the room. In the hall he commanded, “Rose”!  
Knowing that something was terribly wrong, Rose had been waiting at the kitchen counter. A brief conference with Sherlock and Rose was off to offer aid and assistance to Joan. Sherlock was out the door to seek credible information from Dr. Tellavecchio.  
**********  
During the brief cab ride, Sherlock swept his mind clear of all other thoughts. It was an exercise much like cleansing the ‘wall of crazy’ in preparation for a new case. He needed complete focus, no extraneous distractions.  
**********  
As he entered the office the receptionist smiled brightly as she recognized the intense man approaching.  
“Good afternoon Mr. Holmes, we missed you this morning. Is there a problem?”  
Her genuine concern helped bring Sherlock back to a calm state.  
“I need five minutes of Dr Tellavecchio’s time. It is truly an emergency. Dr. Watson is in distress. Please, I only need a moment of her time. Please.”  
**********  
Quickly Sherlock was ushered to a consulting room. Moments later Dr Tellavecchio entered.  
“Sherlock, what has happened.”  
Swiftly He related the events that had motivated his visit. Dr. Tellavecchio explained the recommendations she had made to Dr Watson and Joan’s concurrence with those conclusions.  
“Doctor, I don’t understand? What happened? What changed? Watson is a logical, disciplined, medical professional. You said that she agreed with your recommendations. What happened?”  
“Sherlock. You happened! You returned when she called. You changed the relationship. You allowed her to be a woman again. And now all she can see is the loss of her identity, of that which you desire. No hair, no breasts, no femininity, no Joan, just death! Fear has temporarily taken control."  
"I’ve known Joan since med school. She has always had to be the best and always in control. She now needs what only you can give. Two strong arms and a loving heart. You and Arthur are her salvation. It’s time for you to take charge. She’ll hate you and love you all at the same time. But right now, she needs someone to carry the load. You and Arthur. She needs your hugs and kisses. Trust your instincts, and…….. most of all, your love for both Joan and Arthur. Doctor’s orders. Friend’s advice. Now go. You know what to do.”  
**********  
Rose was waiting at the door when Sherlock returned. A mug of strong coffee was pressed into his chilled hands. In the breakfast nook she explained that Joan was asleep after a half an hour of incoherent sobbing.  
“I think I’ll take her a tea tray. We can discuss this matter quietly over tea and scones, or she can throw the china at me.”  
“I’m glad you’ve still got your sense of humor Sherlock.”  
“Oh, that’s just ‘whistling in the dark’. That woman has always scared the hell out of me. Her anger, disappointment, or the thought of her rejection and our separation is a cold knife to my heart. It always has been. From the moment we met, I was her captive. She is the one with cancer, yet I need her more than she needs me. The doctor‘s last words to me were: ‘You know what to do’. I don’t. I will be improvising. I will be working without a net. I can’t fail her. There is no other option. Well, the moment of truth has arrived. I go armed with chamomile and scones.”  
**********  
Entering the bedroom, he saw that Joan was once more perched on the edge of the same chair as before. Setting the tea service on the small table, he sat on the facing chair.  
“Why are you still here?” Her voice was hard, cold, and lifeless.  
“Because I am not leaving.” Sherlock spoke in a casual, matter of fact manner. “I just had a brief conference with Dr Tellavecchio. She indicated that you were in complete agreement with her suggested therapy. What happened betwixt her office and here? I’m treating this like any other mystery. So, I need your precise input. I’m not moving until WE have solved this problem. We are partners. But we are better than that. We are two people who love each other. And we always have been. Now talk to me.”  
“I already told you, I’m going to be hideous! I can’t subject Arthur to that. I can’ force him to watch me die. That would be monstrously cruel.” At this point the tears washed away all coherence. Sherlock sat silently, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to go gather her into his arms like some phony TV hero. ‘No, this must be on her terms. She must see the rational and logical path that the three of them must follow. He must help her find that path. But how?’ His heart was breaking, and he too was on the verge of incoherent tears!  
“Sherlock, I do love you, but I can’t put you through what is about to happen. I can’t do that to the two people who mean so much to me. I can’t take on that responsibility.”  
Sherlock rose slowly, took two steps to Joan, and quietly lowered to his knees. He placed his hands over Joan’s.  
“Joan, I want you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say. Don’t interrupt. Please wait until I’m finished. You are not helping, saving, or protecting anyone by trying to send us away. Forget me for the moment. Think about Arthur.” Joan let out a combination of gasp, sigh and moan. Sherlock continued.  
“At seven, I was sent away to boarding school. I was told nothing. All I knew was that my mother was weak and sickly. She took to her bed in the afternoons because of ‘female problems’. I was told nothing. It would be decades before It was revealed that she was an addict. She suffered from upper middle class ‘neglected wife’ syndrome. Left to live the life of the ‘lady of the manor’ while her ‘lord and master’ was all about the world attending to business and mistresses. So, this malady usually started with G & Ts then on to straight gin. Then it was to doctors who specialized in ‘female problems’ with the prescribing of tranquilizers and then on to pain killers and addiction. I was told nothing. While I was at school, mother was sent to a sanatorium to receive ‘treatment’. I was told nothing. Then father divorced mother and she was gone. I was told nothing. When I came home for holidays and between terms, I was in the custody of a housekeeper who kept me feed and reasonably clean. No love, no affection, no hugs, and kisses, and no whispered; ‘I love you.’! And then mother died, I was told nothing. I wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. ‘It would be too traumatic for one so young.’ No goodbyes. No final kiss. I was told nothing, so I was left in ignorance and guilt. A burden I have carried all my life.”  
“Do not do that to Arthur. Children are much wiser and resilient than we think. Do not place him in a void. Ignorance only breeds fear and guilt. Let him be here to help you, to love you. And if the fates are so cruel and you die, let it be in our arms. Let your final moments be enveloped in the love of your two ‘boys’. Let us all be together for all our sakes. Let Arthur’s memory of you be of peace and love. And if you triumph over the dragon named cancer. Let Arthur be there to see the battle you must fight and the courage and tenacity you display. Allow him to witness the trials you must bear every day. Give him the gift of watching the person he loves most in this world, slay the dragon. Please don’t cast us out, I beg you we love you; we need you.” With these last words, Sherlock buried his face in Joan’s lap and the silent tears welled to forlorn sobs.  
Joan slid her hand out and began stroking the back of his head. His sobs increased as he cried for a mother lost and the fear of losing the one person, he loved more than any in this world. She bent over and kissed the top of his head. She whispered: “Sherlock, I do need you, please stay. Do you really think we can help Arthur understand and not be afraid?”  
Sherlock rose, sat back on his heels, while rubbing his face and eyes with the palms of both hands. “Watson, we have Rose and Iris, two trained childcare specialists, both working on their Masters. We have you, Arthur’s mother, and a licensed MD. And then there’s me. By whatever grace, I seem to have built a rather strong bond with the boy and I do have an ability to think and communicate rather well at his level.”  
Reaching into his jacket pocket he offered his pristine handkerchief to Joan. She remarked as she accepted it: “It's a good thing I wasn’t wearing any makeup, my face would be complete disaster.” With that Joan delivered a sharp blow to Sherlock’s shoulder.  
“I hate it when I’m right.”  
“Me too!”  
They stood, wrapped in each other’s arms.  
The first skirmish had occurred. Watson-Holmes: 1, Dragon: 0.


	10. The Wisdom of Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you tell a child that you have cancer. Or does he tell you?

The Year of Cancer and Beyond

Chapter Ten

The Wisdom of Innocence

**********

Sherlock and Joan exited the master suite, they paused, looked into each other’s red and swollen eyes, and laughed.

“Oh, Sherlock I am so, so, SO terribly sorry to have put you through this. I … I ….. just wanted to protect everyone …… and ….. heaven forbid that I be a burden to anyone else! I do not do anything in half measure, when they said that doctors were the worst patients, I surely proved that hackneyed old truism. I guess I don’t, well can’t, restrain myself when an emotional barrier is breached. That’s why I was always so stoic with you. I was afraid if I let down my mask for a moment, the flood gates would have opened, and I would have scared you away! As you have discovered, I can be quite passionate.”

“Sit down, Rose left the kettle on when she departed to retrieve Arthur. We have a few minutes. You worry about what you have subjected me to. Think Watson, think of all I have demanded of you. At the least, my initial attempts to prank and annoy you into leaving. And at the worst, my relapses. You literally have brought me back from the dead. Dragging me out of that abandoned railroad tunnel, where I had shot up after beating Oscar. Helping me find the evidence to prove that I had not killed that young girl, years earlier in a drug induced haze. You kept me from choking to death on my own vomit. You bathed and tended me like a small child.”

“Remember when I left for London. I told you that you had saved my life. But I also told you that you had shown me how to be happy. You also had taught me the true meaning of love. So, worry not my dear Watson. If we were to keep score, it would take me decades to even the marks. I am here for the exact purpose I served earlier. When that tidal wave of fear, doubt, and anxiety wash over you, I’ll be here to pull you to the surface, where the hugs and kissed of your two boys await, to restore and cheer you.”

They sat gazing at each other, no longer with eyes wide in wonder, but with eyes full of understanding and confidence. Joan broke the spell, asking: “How, and what shall we tell Arthur?”

“Watson, we simply tell him that you have to go to the hospital next week for a couple of day to get better. We do that calmly. No drama. As if we do it all the time. And then we wait. We take our cue from his response and his questions. Remember, just as I did on my first extended meeting with him. Don’t worry, he will be curious, and we will give him honest age-appropriate answers. Have faith in him, you have done a marvelous job of raising him. Relax, Watson.”

**********

The security system alerted Watson and Holmes to the arrival of Rose, Iris, and Arthur. The ritual was always the same. Hugs and kisses, short legs charging down the long hall to his ‘suite’. Coat hung, hands washed and full speed return for snack and juice. And of course, the telling of the day’s news and events at the Miller Academy Day and Pre School.

Following school tales, juice, and some of Iris’s wonderful biscotti cookies. Joan opened the dreaded conversation.

“Arthur, do you remember when you got sick and we had to go to the doctor, and you got a shot in your arm?”

“Um hum, and I got to pick out which sucker I wanted, and I took the purple one cuz it made my tongue get all purple.”

“Well Honey, I’m going to have to go the hospital next week for a couple of days so I can get all better just like you did.”

“Mommy. Are you sick?”

“Yes Sweety, but the doctor will make me all better.”

“Do you have cancer mommy?” Joan’s eyes flashed angrily from Sherlock to Iris to Rose. Each responded silently with concern and innocence.

Joan continued with Arthur: “What makes you think that I have cancer Sweetheart?”

“Well Tasha’s mommy got sick and had to go to the hospital and have a mastec something and then she came home, and they gave her real strong medicine that made her all pukey. She was pukey all the time and all her hair fell out and she was sick a real long time. Tasha has really curly hair and it is black like mine. Tasha said her hair is curly because she is Black and mine is straight because I am Asian. She knows lots a stuff like that.”

“Arthur, what did Tasha think about her mommy’s sickness?”

“Well, she was all scared at first because they all pretended that everything was OK, but her mommy was all pukey. So, Tasha knew her mommy was real bad sick.”

“What happened then to Tasha and her mommy?”

“Well, her exdaddy came to pick….”

“Arthur, wait. Her exdaddy? What do you mean?”

“Tasha’s mommy and daddy got divorced. And Tasha’s mommy called him her ex. So, Tasha called him her exdaddy. Well, he came to pick her up for her visit. She goes with him every two weeks for a weekend. And she said that she cried and wanted to know if her mommy was going to die. Her exdaddy told her all about cancer and how they can make it go away and that Tasha’s mommy would not die, and she would get all better. Tasha’s exdaddy came over every day and he brought food and even cooked. He even cleaned up when her mommy got all pukey.”

“What happened to Tasha and her mommy and exdaddy. Do you know Sweetheart?”

“Tasha’s mommy is all better and her hair is growing but it is all spikey. It makes Tasha laugh. And her exdaddy, he moved back and they're all together again. But it took a long time, cancer is real bad. But Shermock and me will take real good care of you Mommy. We love you more than anything. We really do. And we’ll cleanup when you are all pukey. We will, we will, won’t we Shermock?”

“Yes, my lad. No matter how pukey!”

The only dry eyes at that moment were those clear innocent eyes of one Arthur Holmes Watson.

Watson-Holmes 2 Dragon 0


	11. The Dawn of the Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the day had arrived. Preparation. Surgery. The Dragon engaged.

The Year of Cancer and Beyond

Chapter Eleven

The Dawn of the Knight

**********

The four conspirators crept silently down the darkened corridor. They approached the chamber’s door. The squire adeptly manipulated the lock and granted the company entrance. The lowered flames of the hearth cast sufficient light for all to find the massive bed and its occupant. The knight, his squire, the herald, and lady in waiting took their positions.

The squire whispered; “My liege?”

The Knight nodded assent.

The herald raised the four-foot-long trumpet to lips and….

“Taa! Ta! Ta! Taaaaaaa!”

The fair lady sat up abruptly. Terror filled her eyes, then confusion, and finally rage!

“SHERLOCK HOLMES!! You are a dead man!”

The lady in waiting turned the rheostat to increase the ambient light. Joan was met with a sight that would boggle the mind of any normal soul. But this was the creation of Sherlock Holmes. To her left was a squire in full chain mail and tunic holding a lance that nearly reach the twelve-foot ceiling. It was non-other than Sherlock himself. Next, the herald, also in chain mail and tunic equipped with a herald trumpet nearly as tall as she. The nearly six-foot-tall lady in waiting, adorned with three-foot-high conical head piece and diaphanous veil and gown presented an impressive appearance. Last but certainly not least was the knight himself. In full armor and drawn broad sword he called forth his battle cry.

“I am Arthur, knight of the five boroughs of New York. I come to slay the Dragon; they call Cancer!”

“Dear lady I am 'Shermock', squire to Sir Arthur. I humbly speak on his behalf. He comes to seek your favor.” At that the tip of the lance dropped to within an inch of Joan’s nose. This produced a momentary crossing of Joan’s eyes, and a brief snigger from the medieval assemblage. Looking back up at sherlock she saw his eyes directing her to the nightstand. There, as if by magic was one of her favorite scarves. It had not been present when she retired. At Sherlock’s prompting she took the scarf and tied it about the lances tip.

“Oh, valiant knight I grant thee favor. Take this symbol of my affection. Go forth and destroy this vile creature that would take me. I place myself in your keeping and protection. I know that you, oh noble knight and your faithful squire shall protect me with your very lives.”

Joan fell back to her bed in a fake swoon with forearm across her eyes and a mournful sigh.

The mighty mite of a knight clamored and clanked up on to the bed and was met with the embrace of the fair lady. Opening the knight’s visor, she was met with the sparling eyes and the mischievous grin of her heart’s delight. Looking past Arthur to Sherlock, she saw something she had never seen before. The expression on his face was new. It took her breathe away. It was ‘paterfamilias’. He was calm. He was hers; he was Arthurs, he was theirs.

In a few hours, the operation.

The battle, engaged.

No doubts now, she had Sir Arthur and the faithful 'Shermock'.

**********


	12. 'Sweet Adeline'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The healing. The nausea. The hair loss. How to help?

The Year of Cancer and Beyond  
Chapter Twelve  
‘Sweet Adeline’

**********  
The operation had gone well. No complications. The healing was ahead of schedule.  
**********  
Joan had been in the hospital five days. She had brief daily visits from her mother Mary, and her half-sister Lin. Sherlock was in constant, background, attendance. As Joan drifted in and out of sleep, she marveled at the peace, comfort, and security his physical presence offered. Better than any prescribed tranquilizer. She remembered how years earlier he had remarked, how just her being in the Brownstone had a calming and focusing effect on him. They were each other’s best medicine.  
The star visitor was the smallest. With his security detail of Rose and Iris, Arthur gathered an entourage of female staff as he proceeded from the parking garage to Joan’s room each afternoon. Joan didn’t need a clock to anticipate her son’s arrival. She need only listen for the chorus of: “Isn’t he adorable. Oh, so cute. Look at that grin. My how clever!” Once at her room, Sherlock would lift Arthur so that he could kiss his mommy. He would then sit next to the bed so he could hold Joan’s hand. Arthur Holmes Watson then held court. He would explain that nobody could hug his mommy because she had surgery and you couldn’t squeeze her owee. He also informed one and all, that he and ‘Shermock’ would take real good care of his mommy when she was all pukee. The “awwws” could be heard a city block away.  
**********  
Thanksgiving had been a small gathering, Joan, Arthur, Sherlock, Rose, Iris, Mary, and Lin. Since Joan’s weekly chemo infusion was early Monday morning, she was usually feeling closer to normal by Thursday. She was able to enjoy both the company and the meal. Iris had produced a traditional turkey centered feast with subtle French accents. Her Cordon Bleu training had not gone to waste. The only negative was that the lovely cooking odors could be a bit overpowering for Joan.  
But being able to move without pain and having nearly full mobility, gave her the necessary lift in spirit to smile her way through the festivities. A touch of queasiness was a small price to pay for sharing an incredibly special holiday with her ‘family’! It was only marred by the loss of a few strands of hair that morning as she prepared for the day. It was only the beginning, but at least she now believed that she had a future.  
**********  
“Now no more giggling. Shhh!”  
“My mustache tickles!”  
“Mine does as well. You must exercise self-control my boy. You can do it. Only a moment more.”  
They crept into the darkened room. A sliver of light shone through the closed curtains. They stood frozen in place waiting. The clock showed: 7:59 AM. They waited. The moment arrived. 8:00 AM. The portable DJ player burst to life with the barbershop harmonies of ‘Sweet Adeline’ joined by an additional baritone and a crystalline boy soprano.  
A moan arose from the nest of sheets, blankets, comforter, and pillows. All that could be heard above the continuing serenade was a muffled: “Go away. I’m sleeping. Don’t you know I’m a sick type person?” Another moan and a head slowly emerged from the bedclothes. The frowning forehead, the half-mast sleep encrusted eyes rotated toward the clock. Turning back with a resigned sign (her eight am curfew had not been violated) she beheld two mock 1890’s singing barbers. Crisp white shirts, garters above the elbows, red vests, bow ties, handlebar mustaches, and black Derbys! As the song ended, they both dropped to one knee and raised their hats in salute to their ‘sweet Joanie’.  
“SHERLOCK HOLMES! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON?”  
Her two boys both giggled. When they had raised their hats, they revealed two bald pates! Well, one bald pate, Sherlock’s, and one small head covered with a theatrical ‘bald cap’.  
“Are you two trying to give me a heart attack to go along with my cancer?”  
“No mommy we’re here to shave you all bald. Just like I did to ‘Shermock’. Can I have a bald head too? Please? It would be so cool! We could take a picture and put it on a Christmas card like you did last year when we wore the sweaters that gramma made for us that were all lumpy with all reindeer and Santa and snowman and stuff? Please? Please?” Arthur’s exclamation was accomplished in one breath and at lightning speed!  
“Whoa! You have the lungs of an opera singer, little man! Now what is this about; shaving me bald?”  
“May I explain, Luv?”  
“Please. Proceed, and this had better be good. No, great! No, absolutely fantastic!”  
“You had expressed your distress at the manner in which your hair loss had occurred. Arthur and I did some research.”  
“Yeah mommy, we did it together. We used ‘Shermock’s’ computer because mine’s a baby one! His is way better. It is.”  
With an indulgent smile Sherlock continued: “We discovered that there were several charitable organizations that accept hair donations for the purpose of creating natural wigs for cancer patients who cannot afford them. Rather than the frustration of the slow loss in bits and clumps we recommend the quick and easy, ‘Arthur and ‘Shermock’ home barber service’. We sing, we dance, we’ll shave you bald.”  
“And you would finally get to see the end of the blond? Yes?”  
“As I noted before your surgery; all your bits and pieces belong to you. Whatever pleases you brings me the greatest joy. So, Watson. What say you?”  
“It makes sense, it’s logical, and it will help those who are in the same predicament that I’m in. My boys have done good. May I splash some water on my face and have a cup of tea first? Oh, and let’s not tell Iris and Rose what we’re going to do, until the deed is done. We’ll surprise them.”  
**********  
The two-man plot had now grown to a three-person conspiracy.  
**********  
Christmas was on the way.  
**********


	13. Christmas: An Eve to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts of Christmas past. Will they keep Sherlock from following his heart.

The Year of Cancer and Beyond

Chapter Thirteen

Christmas: An Eve to Remember

**********

Christmas eve. Sherlock sat watching the snow swirling, eddying, and whirling off into the fog and mist thirty-five floors below. Manhattan was an amorphous glow that the bridge vanished into. A White Christmas. Everyone’s fondest wish. The dream of every child. Perfect landing conditions for Father Christmas/Santa Claus and his sleigh.

Sherlock had seen that a handsome sum from his late father’s estate had gone into creating a North Pole extravaganza in the large empty foyer of their building. Every tree and shrub in the park over the parking garage were a riot of fairy lights. A winter wonderland.

The apartment was a virtual full time decorating project for the inhabitants of the top floor. Arthur was on vacation from school. He and Iris and Rose spent countless hours creating homemade decorations. The massive sixteen-foot tree in the living room filled the entire home with a rich pine scent. Thankfully, it was one fragrance that didn’t send Joan dashing to hug the porcelain.

Live wreaths on every door. Garland draping the fireplace, piano, and anyone who stood still for more than five minutes. Bob wore a scarf of fairy lights to complement his kilt and matching tartan vest. Angus had to settle for a Santa hat to cover the cork that filled the hole in his head, that remained from an earlier misadventure. And Clyde’s home was encircled with lights and he had his own tortoise sized decorated tree.

The apartment was a home. Friends and family called and visited. Sherlock was amazed at the perception and sensitivity the visitors displayed. They all seemed to know how long to stay; enough to cheer but not so long as to overly fatigue. And the laughter. It was as though that was all they did. Joan wrapping an arm about his waist and raising on her toes, to grant and receive a kiss. Arthur tackling Sherlock’s leg in a bear hug; looking up with a grin and tearing off to some new adventure. All that joy, all that affection, all that love.

And yet that sense of dread. The gnawing fears. They were all dead. Yet, they were all here. Waiting, always waiting, to rob him of happiness. The demons of memory.

A cuppa. Soothing, comforting tea. A good cuppa could cure anything.

**********

To the kitchen, to set the kettle to boil. Approaching the living room, Sherlock paused. The couches flanking the hearth formed a corridor betwixt fireplace and the majestic, lavishly adorned tree. Lighting the gas logs with the remote, the immense pile of gifts glittered and gleamed in the firelight. No store wrapped packages here. Each had received the loving hands of the giver. Even Sherlock had shopped and wrapped for each recipient. Sherlock smiled, it had taken him and Arthur two weeks of ‘foraging’ to find all the perfect gifts. No internet, catalog, or mail order shopping for them. Every gift had to be inspected and evaluated with the critical eye of a demanding four-year-old. For Sherlock it was an incredible education as well as great good fun. To be able to combine a childhood lost, with parenting nearly missed. He stood transfixed. Was this real? A dream? Fantasy? Delusion?

**********

Sherlock was drawn to and around the wall of gifts. He dropped to his knees and then to his belly. On elbows and knees, he crawled under the eight-foot breadth of the tree. Once fully under its boughs, he rolled onto his back. Immediately tears filled his eyes. He was a child again. Hiding from the pain and fear.

Suddenly there was a hand on his ankle. They’d found him! The cook, the housekeeper, the gardener, Mycroft! No! No!

“Please, please, no.”

“Sherlock, it’s Joan. It’s alright, it’s Joan.”

“I’m okay. I’m, I’m …….. okay.”

Joan joined Sherlock under the tree.

“Hey guy, give a girl a little space. It’s my tree too. So, is this some sort of English Christmas tradition you ‘Limeys’ keep to yourselves?”

“It’s my tradition. It was how I had my own private Christmas. When you lay on your back and look up through the branches, if you squint or, ………. if you’ve been crying, the fairy lights are all fuzzy and blurry and they look like a million multicolored stars. And if you continue to stare you feel like you’re going to float and then fly up into the stars……….. And maybe you can find ….. mama.” Now Joan didn’t need to squint in order to see blurry stars. She laced her fingers with his and they both were enveloped in the fairy stars and rich pine scent of the tree.

**********

“I came to hate holidays because they were a torment for me. When I was small, my mother provided warmth, security, and love. She helped keep the cacophony of sights and sounds from overwhelming me. In her arms I could find peace. But then she was sick, and she went away, and she died, and I was alone. No one to protect me from my brother. He was a monster. He was eight years older and already a master of manipulating, using an abusing people. Whether it was my birthday or Christmas, he had an uncanny skill at deducing which present was my favorite. He would then damage, destroy, or hide that which I desired most. If he had damaged or destroyed my treasure, he would submit it to nanny or housekeeper or Papa and claim that I had destroyed it during a tantrum or a fit.”

“One year when I was nine, Mycroft smashed a chemistry set that Papa had given me. It was everything I had ever wanted. Real glass beakers and flasks and test tubes, crushed to dust. When father saw the destruction, he decided that I didn’t deserve any gifts. He took them all and burned them. From that day forward I hated my father and Mycroft and all holidays, with a fire that burned almost my entire life.”

“I know, Sherlock. I read the ‘Mycroft File’ when you were gone.”

“What? I…. I”

“It’s alright, sherlock, I came across it while I was going through your cold case files. I was grasping at anything that might help me find and communicate with you. I even sleep in your shirts just to be close to you. Someday I would like you to tell me the whole ‘Mycroft File’.”

“You have all the facts Watson. All the documentation.”

“Yes but remember how you told me that you can’t know the whole story until you’ve heard it spoken aloud. I want to hear it all, every nuance, every detail, everything that you bring to the story. Later, on a rainy thunder and lightning filled night, in front of a warming fire. Maybe, when we’re back in the Brownstone.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I owe you the full tale.”

“Now then Mr. Holmes, how about a nice calming mug of hot chocolate, a warm bed and the embrace of a woman who adores you?”

“Only if she agrees to reciprocity.”

“Done.”

**********

Joan brought out a tray with two festive holiday mugs and a pot enclosed in a cozy.

“I say Watson, where and when did we acquire that, that, what is that Watson?”

“It is a housewarming, holiday season, custom handmade, Clio Hudson original cocoa pot, mugs, tray and cozy!”

“Well, aren’t we domestic. Hold a second, Luv. I shall return momentarily.” Sherlock took off with short rapid steps and pumping arms.

“You look just like Arthur when he is in a hurry.”

“Short steps allow you to navigate through furniture without having to cross step and possibly trip. Arm pumps help maintain balance. A four-year-old is quite logical. I’ve learned much from Arthur.” Sherlock disappeared into the music room. He shortly returned with an object in his hand. Stopping at the pile of packages, he searched and withdrew one cube shaped box approximately 12”x12”x12”.

Approaching Joan, now seated on a couch, Sherlock placed the box on Joan’s lap. Holding up his left hand he displayed their special companion, Clyde.

To Joan’s delight, Clyde was cloaked in one of Ms. Hudson’s special creations. A red cozy with openings for his legs and a white faux fur collar. A tiny Santa hat held in place with an elastic band completed the ensemble. He was now Santa Clyde!

“Oh Santa Clyde, you are adorable.”

“Santa Clyde has joined us to act as a witness”

“Witness?”

“Patience Watson, all will be made clear. Now please open your gift.”

**********

Joan untied the red ribbon and removed the top of the gold box. Within was another identical smaller gold box wrapped with a red ribbon. Five times she repeated the process.

“This is just like a Russian Matryoshka Doll set.” Having reached a box only about two inches square, she looked up to see an enthusiastic Santa Clyde bobbing his head up and down. She looked to Sherlock and he nodded to her to continue. Taking a deep breathe she opened the final box. There it was, last seen years ago, put back into Sherlock’s special hiding place. His mother’s beautiful blue sapphire engagement ring. Joan started to tremble, it was only going to be a friendship ring, a gesture of their long partnership. Nothing more. Friends, Partners. Her breathing became rapid and shallow.

“Watson, Santa Clyde is here, as I said, to serve as witness. I have three questions to pose. Are you prepared?”

Joan stared, her lips twitched, but no sound. With eyes wide in: Wonder? Fear? Hope? She nodded affirmative.

“Excellent. Then let us proceed. Clyde is excited and becoming impatient.” Withdrawing the ring from the box that Joan held, Sherlock gazed at the symbolic gem, last worn nearly fifty years ago. “First………. Joan Watson………. Would you….. Could you….. Would you do me the honor of….. of…. Please………. Please, please marry me. You are my everything. I am a mere imitation of a man without you. Will you marry me?” Silence. Sherlock’s mind began to race as his deep-seated doubts, fears, and insecurities began to dominate his consciousness.

“Well, Santa Clyde, what do you think?” Joan’s eyes widened as she watched the small tortoise’s head bounce up and down enthusiastically. Looking back at Sherlock with that special smile, she said: “It appears to be unanimous. Yes, a thousand times YES I will marry you!”

Placing Santa Clyde on Joan’s lap, Sherlock took Joan’s extended hand an slid the ring in place.

“A perfect fit, Sherlock.”

“A good omen, Luv.”

Sealed with a sweet and gentle kiss that promised, not passion, but a lifelong commitment.

**********

Falling back on his heals again, Sherlock was now as breathless as his partner, his fiancé, his love.

“Sherlock? You said there were three questions?”

“Yes. Ah, yes. Yes Watson.” He retrieved Clyde from Joan’s lap. “Ha, ha, ha, Clyde. She said yes! Santa Clyde, she said yes! Ha! By Jove, she….. said….. yes.” Regaining his equanimity, he turned to Joan and began: Question number two. Big or small?”

“What?” A look of puzzlement and confusion crossed Joan’s face.

“Oh, sorry Luv. Do you want a giant, destination wedding with a cast of thousands and every obscene embellishment? Or, small, a Justice of the Peace with his wife as witness? Or anything betwixt?”

“Small, Sherlock, you, me, Arthur and mother. No extravaganza, no mountain of flowers, no thousand-dollar ice sculptures, no ugly dresses! This is about you and me. Two people who love each other and always have.”

“Interrogative number three. Sooner or later?”

“Sooner, definitely sooner. This is all about us! Not my health. No waiting to see how things turn out. I, no we, will not be dictated to by cancer. Did I pass the test professor?”

“Double firsts, A pluses, top marks, and all my love, Luv!”

“Well, Santa Clyde, you have the answers. ‘YES’, ‘Small’, and ‘Soon’. What say you?” Once again Clyde’s head bounced an enthusiastic agreement.”

“Okay, how do you make him do that?”

“Watson, I swear to you, I’ve never seen him do that before. I assume he is trying to remove the little hat so he can pull his head back into his shell. It is well past his nap time.” With that Clyde pulled his head into his shell. The cap slid off without effort. The two partners stared first at Clyde then at each other. Returning their gaze to Clyde, he had withdrawn his legs and was now just a small bundle of red and white cozy.

“I think I shall return Clyde to his abode. Why don’t you pour the cocoa.”

“How would like your hot chocolate?”

“Tonight? The works! Mini marshmallows, candy cane, and a dollop of whipped cream! Blood sugar be damned, tonight we celebrate.”

“Sherlock, you are mad.”

**********

Ensconced upon the couch, Joan and Sherlock were bathed in firelight, fairy light, and the glow of the city lights through the curtain of falling snow. A perfect setting for a magical night.

“Watson, first thing in the morning we must take your mother aside. Mary should be first to be told. Plus, she would kill me were she not first to be informed. Although I did ask her permission last night.”

“You told my mother last night and she didn’t say a word to me. That is a first. I didn’t think my mother had the capacity to keep a secret!” Joan chortled quietly and remarked: “We should call Kitty and Arche next, since she thinks we’re her family, and we are Arche’s godparents.”

“She’ll probably be on the next plane.”

“No doubt.” Joan turned to Sherlock. Her eyes glittered in the firelight. Her normally beautiful but stoic expression now graced with the smile that could both break and expand Sherlock’s heart.

"And then we tell Arthur. At last, he will have his fondest wish, his ‘Papa’.”

**********

Christmas, an eve to remember.

**********

Merry Christmas Happy Holidays

Peace and Good Health

O/P


End file.
